Dial Tone
by Auresalia
Summary: (Inspired by HuntyDraws' "Hotline Tokyo" art piece) Something's happened to Izuku. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that everyone around him acts strange, and people both known and unknown are stalking him. At the same time, a vigilante has begun massacring criminal hideouts, and it all seems to center around him.
1. Thy Flesh Coveted

_Izuku wasn't sure where he was when he opened his eyes. Then again, he wasn't sure when he opened his eyes in the first place. Were his eyes even open? He felt like they were, but he was unable to see anything. All around him was an endless black void, whether it stretched out in all directions or was simply encasing him, he wasn't sure. _

_He felt like he was floating, but though his feet told him he was on solid ground. He looked down, dimly registering the presence of his body beneath him. It was blurry, filled with swathes of light green and red. Some small part of his mind wandered how he could see this in the absence of a light source. _

_He moved his arm up, closer to his face. It moved slowly, as if something were delaying his actions. It came into focus, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. _

_What was he wearing? Was this... was this even his own arm?_

_He felt himself slightly tremble as his eyes sucked up the information they received. Thick white glove... a rough looking jacket over his arms, red and blue bands at the cuffs... and a striking green material underneath. He traced the arm back to its source, stopping as he noticed something else. _

_Red. Spattered along his arms all the way up. Dark, thick. Soaked into the material. _

_He felt his stomach ice over as he tried his best to understand what was before him. _

_This can't be him. No. Not him. Then who? Who was he?_

_It felt as if a gear was missing from his mind... or perhaps there were too many, jamming each other up. Either way, he couldn't think. Nothing made sense. _

_A twinkle appeared, a neon blue needle striking into the back of Izuku's eye. He looked up, watching as the light grew near... or maybe he was moving closer to it. He winced as his ears picked up the tinny tone of TV static, washing over him like waves in the ocean. _

_Out of the noise came a voice, clear as day, one that sunk itself into his ears and permeated his mind like a parasite. _

_"You had him waiting out there this whole time?" It asked._

_Another voice arose, this one much more aggressive and guttural. "It's none of your business! He's not even supposed to be here in the first place, if you weren't so damn insistent on seeing him yourself, he wouldn't even be out there!" _

_A third voice, one sounding incredibly bored, almost sleepy interjected. "Both of you, have your little quarrel later. He's right here." _

* * *

Shinjuku never stopped bustling. Whether it was clubs, stores, or recreational activities, if you had a spot open there, you were almost guaranteed business at all hours of the clock. This was just the case for Takamagahara, a coffee shop that occupied a corner just off the main shopping district. Despite the focus on high quality drinks and a fancy decorum, it was actually open almost all hours of the day and was almost never without a healthy amount of business.

This was one of those days, and behind the counter worked a solitary barista. His formal wear was spotless, his smile bright, and mass of green curls atop his head bounced back and forth with each move of his body.

Izuku dumped out the used contents of the portafilter, wiping the inside clean with a towel. The moment the door creaked open, he immediately put it back under the grinder, watching as it filled up yet again with freshly ground espresso beans.

"Welcome!" He chimed out, back turned from the door. "Will you be sitting in or getting one to go?"

"Dead Eye to go." A gruff voice barked back.

Izuku froze up, his back straightening like a wooden board the moment those words reached his ears. He knew that voice... It couldn't be...

He slowly turned around, his lips shakily forming a smile as he settled his eyes on an unfortunately familiar presence.

Katsuki Bakugou, in the flesh yet again.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Izuku's mind racing like a cornered mouse in front of a hungry cat. He couldn't make out the expression on his former classmate's face. Something lost between annoyance and confusion.

"R-right..." Izuku choked out, quickly walking towards the machine and shakily jamming the portafilter into the espresso machine. He pressed the button to start the process, spending the achingly long minute looking at anything but the hero on the other end of the bar. He glanced back at the blonde man, who had already pulled out his phone, swiping through his messages.

It didn't take long for him to realize why Bakugou didn't react at all- he didn't even _remember_ him. Not that he really had any reason to.

Feeling a little relieved, he pulled the cup with the espresso coffee out from under the machine, taking it over to the drip coffee canister. He slowly filled up the paper cup, taking the time to analyze the pro hero a little further.

For being a pro hero, he certainly didn't look it. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, irises still as blazingly red as ever. He wore a cheap Hawaiian style shirt, usually only worn by tourists. The scent of recently smoked cigarettes wafted over him, which explained why his voice was even rougher than before.

Izuku capped the beverage, placing it on the counter. "Here you go Ba- er, Sir."

"Right." He muttered, grabbing the cup and taking a swig. "It's good."

"Yes. Th-thank you, Sir."

Bakugou reached into his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills and laying it on the counter. He sauntered out without saying another word.

Izuku clutched the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white as Bakugou slowly receded from his vision. He quickly pulled the portafilter out from the machine, doing his best to maintain steady breathing as he emptied and cleaned it out, doing his best to wipe his mind of the encounter from just now, hoping it would never happen again.

* * *

_Izuku's eyes didn't take long to readjust to the extra stimuli this new place brought. _

_That blue light was, in fact, a television left on with its static echoing across the room. The room itself contained very little, just the TV and four chairs arranged to be in a square. _

_Izuku realized he was already seated, though he wasn't sure when that happened. The other three chairs were occupied by other beings, all wearing scarily detailed masks that seemed to burn themselves into the back of his mind. _

_The one directly across from him had donned a squid mask, textured tube reaching a few inches into the air, tentacles draping over his face and over his chin. It looked slimy, glistening skin wobbling about. _

_"They're still coalesced." It stated plainly, leaning in to look at Izuku closer. "You've done a terrible job." _

_The one on his right clenched his fist, breathing deeply, as if to maintain his temper. He proudly wore the helmet of some sort of medieval Japanese armor. "Blame the humans, then. I made the instructions simple enough, it's not my fault if they're too fucking stupid." _

_The third, slumped in his chair, had his face covered by a curved mirror, reflecting the world back with a fish-eye lens effect. "Save this for later. He's listening." _

_The first one leaned back, seemingly unworried. "It matters not. He won't remember this." _

_"You of all people should know that he could remember this down the line. We should have some precautions while he is here." He sighed, slumping his head towards Izuku. "He's right, you probably won't remember us. I am Yokumitsu." _

_The squid-head laughed, clapping his hands together. "What an interesting way of making a code name! Let me try it. Human, you will know me as... Neo-Mokai." _

_The warrior shook his head, tapping his foot against the ground. "This is stupid. I'm not doing this." _

_Yokumitsu clicked his tongue, turning his head to face the warrior. "Don't forget whose domain this is. It may have been made at your request, but I still make the rules here. While we're in here, you'll be called Machihan." _

_"Fine." The warrior reluctantly consigned, folding his arms over his chest. _

_"Good." The mirror faced figure slumped down further, yawning. "Now hurry and finish up the inspection. I'd like to get some sleep at some point." _

* * *

Izuku sighed as the last large group of customers left the shop. It was around 2 in the morning, right when the bustle died down, at least until the sunrise shift. Izuku quickly wiped down the tables, eyes twinkling as the wet surfaces reflected the purple and yellow neon lights back onto him. He loved this time of night, watching the different LED and Neon signs in different patterns, mixing and separating... it was a treat for the eyes, and why he loved working the evening shift.

The door creaked open yet again, and in his usual manner he stood straight up and cheerily greeted the newcomers with a "Welcome!"

The two customers were decked out in matching jeans and white and blue hoodies. One of them carried a strange cylindrical case with a velvet cover draped over it, a brass ring at the top. They both nodded, making their way to a table and sitting down. The case was placed on top of the table.

Izuku quickly strode up to them, bowing curtly. "What can I get started for you tonight?"

"Just an Americano for me." One mumbled.

The other one took a moment longer. "Actually, can I have a vanilla mocha? And some sugar too, please."

"Sure! Coming right up."

He went to the back of the counter, quickly preparing their drinks. About two minutes later, he returned with two freshly made cups of coffee. He placed them daintily in front of their prospective drinkers.

"Now... forgive me for asking, but... Is that a bird cage, Sir?"

The two glanced at each other, before looking back at their server. One of them spoke up. "Is there a no animal policy here?"

"Actually, there is... but... I think as long as it's just us in here, there won't be any problems." He replied, giving them a comforting smile.

"Are you the only one here?"

"Yeah..." He sighed. "The owner rarely comes in, though we usually have two or three people here during the day."

"I guess that makes sense." One of the customers shrugged, taking a sip of their mocha. "Damn that's some good coffee. I'm surprised you don't have more people here on your shift."

Izuku nervously laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, I can only do so much to bring people in, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it." The guy replied, smiling back.

"By the way, what's with the birdcage?"

The guy drinking the drip coffee stopped, placing the cup back down. "We're just carrying it for a friend. He insists on taking it for a walk."

"Oh really? Can I... can I see?"

The same guy responded, "I don't think-"

"Oh, come on, dude." The other interrupted, lightly hitting him on the arm with the back of his hand. "With stuff like this I'm gonna be back here anyway, it won't hurt to let him see it."

The first guy clicked his tongue. "Alright, fine."

He reached up, slowly pulling away the fabric. Little by little, the shadows were lifted to reveal an almost impeccable white plumage, clashing against the neon signs as it stood out as a bright white amidst a sea of mixing color. With the cloth removed, Izuku could tell the front of the cage, as well as the bird, were facing away from him. It occasionally fluttered its wings and cooed softly, but never once left or moved from its perch.

"It's... a dove?"

"Right on the money!" The second guy nodded, gesturing towards the bird. "This here's a real beauty, isn't she?"

"She really is! I've never seen a bird so white before, it's almost glowing!"

"I know right? Just wait until you see her from the front, too!" He grabbed the ring, slowly turning around it to face the green haired barista.

However, the moment the dove caught a glance of Izuku, it reacted almost violently. Its tiny coos grew loud, as it suddenly hopped around, flapping its wings and jumping to the floor of the cage. Everyone froze as it practically ran straight into the bars, grasping them with its claws and beak, acting as if it was trying to wrench itself out of its home.

The customers stared at each other, shocked expressions on their face as their color drained into a pallid expression. They quickly and hastily threw the curtain back on, and the moment the cage was covered, all signs of resistance stopped.

After a moment of confused silence, the more casual of the two laughed nervously. "Sorry about that... I wasn't expecting it to panic like it did... We won't bring it back here again."

Izuku swallowed thickly, almost feeling as if he was responsible. "N-no, it's no problem. I... I won't charge you for the coffee today."

"Oh really? Thanks!" He smiled. "By the way, what's your name again? I'm Yuuki."

"O-oh, uh. Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya."

"Right. Well, thank you for the latte. It's been a while since I had one this good." He put the mug up to his lips, completely draining the rest of it in one swig. They both hastily stood up, walking towards the door. "I think we should be going now."

"Alright! Ha-have a good night!" Izuku shakily waved, watching as they both quickly exited the shop and ran down the street. He watched as one of them quickly pulled out their phone, making a call.

"Must be... telling their friend that their bird panicked." He concluded, though the nagging feeling in the back of his head refused to go away.

* * *

_Neo-Mokai stood up, slowly walking towards Izuku. He reached out, ice cold hands holding the man's head by the jaw. The being tilted his head upwards, as he stared helplessly into the bulbous black eyes of the mask. Water glistened off its surface, a pungent ocean smell permeating his senses as he felt drops of moisture fall and hit his face. _

_Throughout all of this, he was unable to move. Though in the back of his mind, it felt more like he wasn't allowed to move. _

_Neo-Mokai leaned in close, settling his fingers on Izuku's eyelids to push them wide open, staring deep into his very soul. _

_"What a piece of work this is." He noted, as if he were simply a physician. "You crafted him well, I'll give you that. An ideal specimen. But the process wasn't finished. He's still incomplete." _

_"And?" Machihan impatiently pushed. "You already said as much. What are you even trying to do?" _

_"I'm going to fix him, of course."_

_"I get knowing things is your whole schtick, but don't think for a second that I'm an idiot." He stood up pulling him away from Izuku. "I know what you want. He's __**mine.**__" _

_Neo-Mokai raised his hands. "I never once said that. And you're right, the only reason I'm here is because I caught onto your little scheme and saw how you left the human." _

_"I didn't leave him like that. Those idiots just didn't do it right." _

_"And with him like that," the squid headed being gestured towards Izuku, "neither of us are in a position to do anything. He can't do anything for you until the procedure is finished. I can't do anything about him in his current state. The only way either of us can get an upper hand is if I fix him." _

_"Or you'll destroy him." He retorted. "I know how fucking slimy you are. I'd rather leave him like this than let you mess around with his head. At least he's still usable." _

_"And yet the last time you tried that you couldn't control what you made." The squid-head calmly pointed back. "How long did it take you to find a prime specimen like this? Do you think you'll really find another one so easily in this day and age?" _

_Yokumitsu slowly pushed himself to his feet, sauntering over to the other two. "I'm getting sick of this. I'll give both of you a deal so we can just move on from this mess. Neo-Mokai will fix him, and in exchange he will not interfere with Machihan's new plaything for a set time. If you can't agree to that, then I will destroy this place and take him down with it." _

_"...Fine." The Samurai headed figure agreed._

_Neo-Mokai laughed. "I can accept those terms. I can wait as long as I need, as long as I get to step in eventually. After all, I doubt you have any intentions of him dying?" _

_"You're damn right, I don't."_

_"Then we've come to a compromise." The calm voice laughed, turning back to Izuku. He lightly grabbed him by the jaw again, pulling it down to open his mouth wide. "Now, then... say 'ahhhhhh.'" _

* * *

Izuku sighed, dumping the last of his coffee rinds into the trash. It was still a few hours from sunrise, but at this point the cafe was entirely empty. He walked to the storefront, flipping the sign on the door from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED.' There were only two or three hours that the shop was actually closed, mostly to do some cleaning in the storage room and to stock what inventory they needed. Izuku checked the schedule.

"Right, no shipment today. Everything else is pretty much done then."

After a quick mop down of the front, he went back to the changing rooms, trading his formal bartender-style vest for khaki shorts and a t-shirt that read "Tuxedo." He slipped into his red tennis shoes and started making his way to the back door to the alley. He grabbed the last few trash bags there and pushed open the door, before going to the dumpster and getting rid of the last few things he needed. He dusted his hands off, before walking down the alley towards the street.

His ears perked at the sound of tires screeching down the street, and he stopped in his tracks. Something felt wrong, cars don't normally come down this road, let alone ones speeding like that.

Just as those thoughts crossed his mind, the end of the alley was cut off by a large van, screeching to a stop right next to him. The side doors opened up, and out came pouring a group of men in white and blue hoodies, rushing straight towards him.

Izuku felt frozen, a cold sweat running down the back of his neck as he saw all these people running almost recklessly towards him. The adrenaline in his system finally kicked in, and he turned around, almost slipping on the loose bits of concrete as he bolted away from the horde coming after him.

He felt himself scream as he ran as fast as he could, legs burning as they refused to stop. If anything, the scream made them run faster, even more desperate to grab him.

He refused to look back, he needed to get away.

'_Run_.' The only thought that echoed back and forth in his brain. ' _RUN!_'

His eyes only focused on the other end of the alley, away from the thunderous roar of the footsteps stomping the ground behind him. If he could make it to a bigger street... there had to be more people! He could get help, maybe a hero could-

The light as the end of the alley was cut off. Another van had pulled around and blocked his exit.

The shock of his only exit cut off caused his legs to give out. He quickly and clumsily scrambled to his feet, screaming as he looked for any exit- a ladder? Fire escape? Anything?!

But the only other escapes were behind the groups of people rushing at him from both sides. He froze in fear as he watched them rush up to him, their multitude of hands shoving him down to the ground, covering his mouth to prevent more screams from coming out. He was forced onto his back, limbs forced against the asphalt, unable to fight back. His head was forcefully tilted to the side, exposing his neck.

It wasn't long before a sharp prick pierced a spot right above his shoulder, and the world began to grow hazy. It wasn't long before everything went dark.

* * *

_"Right." Neo-Mokai rubbed his hands together, stepping back from Izuku. The young man sat there with his mouth agape, a thin line of drool connecting from his mouth to the floor. "It's finished. As agreed upon, I shall take my leave. Feel free to do what you want with him, while you can." _

_"Don't make it sound that fucking weird." Machihan bit back. "Just go." _

_The squid-head raised his hands again. "Fine, fine."_

_The other two figures watched as he opened the door in the back, disappearing into the black void that lay behind it. _

_"Finally." Yokumitsu sighed, moving back towards the door as well. "I'm giving you five minutes before I tear this place down, that should be more than enough time to finish up and get him out of here." _

_The samurai nodded, watching as the mirror headed man exited the room. He quickly turned his attention back to Izuku, kneeling down and grabbing him by the forehead. He pulled his head up, making the young man look at him with vacant eyes. _

_He breathed in deeply, and began speaking to Izuku. It sounded almost as if he were reciting lines, but it carried a sense of pride and firmness along with it. "Listen well, for I gave you a life and a purpose. You have no name, no allegiance to anyone but me. You are my avatar, my will incarnate. I grant you armor to keep you from those who would oppose me, and a sword to smite the scum that dares to stop you. You will carry out your duties without fail, for you will always have my protection. You will not fear anyone, and you will not stop until I will it. These are my wishes, and you will grant them to me." _

_Izuku seized up, his joints locking into place, jittering back and forth. His jaw snapped shut, and the drooling ceased. Machihan removed his hand, standing up and stepping back. Izuku quickly rose to his feet, standing to attention in front of the samurai. _

_"Now, go forth, and strike down the enemy!"_

* * *

Izuku gasped awake, limbs scrambling as he felt something restricting them. He resisted the urge to shriek, his brain going into overdrive as he did his best to figure out what was going on. The thing keeping his limbs down were... soft? Wait...

He paused, heart pounding out of his chest as his vision cleared. His limbs weren't tied up, he had simply gotten them tangled in the sheets of his own bed. He breathed in and out deeply, forcing his heart to go back to a normal pace. He wiped the cold sweat off his brow, slowly separating himself from his bed as he tried to wake himself up.

He didn't remember getting home last night... when did he-

Hazy visions of being chased and something pricking his neck caused his panic to rise again.

"It... but I'm- no..." He muttered to himself. He stumbled to the bathroom, looking at the mirror. He tilted his head to the side, searching for anything resembling an injury, but...

Nothing. Pristine skin.

He looked down at his arms, and he felt an inexplicable sense of confusion. They were uninjured... but should they be? He furrowed his brow, at a loss for words. Why does it feel like there are supposed to be bruises on his arms... and his chest, too? There was nothing there... that's how it's supposed to be, right?

His questions were interrupted by the sound of something tiny hitting the window next to him. The glass was frosted, so he couldn't tell what it was... some kind of bird, maybe?

Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached over, pulling the lock open and lifting the glass pane up.

A dove stood outside of his home, staring down at him, cooing quietly.

Izuku returned the blank stare, mouth hanging open, unsure of what to say or think about the creature in front of him.

The bird tilted its head, before turning to its side, and picking something up on the other side of the windowsill. It twisted its head back, throwing the object into the room, the sound of cheap plastic hitting and skittering across the floor.

Izuku looked down, staring at the object given to him. It was... a cell phone. A black flip phone from the looks of it. There didn't seem much special about it, one of the more popular models still used in Japan.

He looked back up. The dove was gone.

HIs heart jumped out of his chest as the phone began to ring, the buzzer causing it to move along the ground towards him. His palms began to sweat again, a sense of dread settling into his stomach so deeply that it felt like it would tear itself out of his gut and go through the floor.

He reached down, the thing almost slipping out of his weak grasp as he grabbed it. The screen didn't have a caller name, just listed as 'Unknown.'

He opened up the clamshell phone, slowly pressing the speaker against his ear.

Before he could even say anything, a burst of static and layered signal tones blasted into his ear, the noise almost penetrating his skull. His limbs stiffened, his eyes grew wide as his pupils dilated. His mouth clenched shut as he stared forward, a blank but serious look firmly planted onto his face.

The horrendous noise eventually cut off, leaving the entire apartment deathly silent. But Izuku refused to take the phone away from his ear.

Eventually, a gruff, very aggressive voice spoke to him from the other end of the line.

_"It's time."_

* * *

A/N: The source for my inspiration was the piece "Hotline Tokyo", by HuntyDraws. You can find it on their Tumblr, which I cannot link because FFnet doesn't like external links.

I'm really excited to start this story, I've literally had this chapter finished for months but I wanted to finish "All for One, All for Him" first. I wasn't expecting it to take as long as it did.

Don't forget to let me know what you thought about it! And once you're done, you can go ahead and follow me to my own Tumblr and Twitter. I'd love to hear from you!


	2. Thy Sins Absolved

Kabukicho was always awash with lights, illuminating the streets with a splattering of different colors the further one walked through the red-light district. The main streets were bustling, filled with tourists and regulars perusing the different storefronts and clubs as hosts and hostesses did what they could to bring potential patrons into the different clubs and bars that lined the area.

Much of the district was overflowing with pedestrians, but even in this sleepless city there were some places that looked almost abandoned. Down a winding, empty alley, just past a set of dumpsters and fire escape ladders, sat a pachinko parlor. It was practically a hole in the wall, carved out of the brick and covered with a hastily constructed sliding garage door. Inside were just four or so rows of machines, their screens flickering intermittently as they sat completely unused. Above the entrance was a bright purple neon sign, emblazoned with the word "PACHINKO" that cast an eerie aura over everything in its sight.

Directly to the side of the parlor's entrance lay a cheap plastic chair, atop which sat a burly looking man. He sighed in boredom, scrolling through his phone lazily as the warm city breeze kept him just slightly warmer than what he would have been comfortable with. He tapped his foot incessantly against the ground, his agitation growing as he shook his head.

His ears twitched as something akin to wood clattering against the concrete echoed near him. He quickly threw his phone to the side, jumping to his feet as he looked for the source of the noise. The sound shifted, dimming to a small scraping rasp.

It wasn't long until he could see where it was coming from- a costumed figure considerably smaller than him, slowly coming out of the darkness and into his view. They had a lithe physique, completely covered in some sort of green and black costume that clashed horribly with the neon haze flooding the alley. They wore a jacket that seemed reminiscent of an American varsity coat, the egg white sleeves ending right where a pair of thick white leather gloves began. Their bright red shoes were the only part that resisted the glow of the alley, its color almost searing into the other man's pupils.

They were wearing some sort of rabbit mask, the same dull green of the suit the person wore- it had an unsettling smile carved into the rim of the headgear, but the bigger man couldn't tell what kind of emotion it was trying to convey. The eyes peeking out from the black holes cut above it seemed almost disinterested, staring straight into him with a strange kind of apathy.

The man quickly identified what the noise was; this person- who he assumed was a male based on the body shape, was loosely dragging a wooden baseball bat behind him, the pommel resting between his fingers as the other end bounced against the ground.

The man guarding the parlor felt his heart jump in excitement as he sauntered forward. A grin unfurled on his face, intensifying when he began cracking his knuckles.

"It's about time someone decided to raid this dump." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He raised his voice, calling to the approaching figure. "I don't know what some scrawny punk in his PJs like you is doing here, but I ain't lettin' you go before I have my fun with you."

The armed vigilante didn't react in the slightest, stumbling forward with glassy disinterested eyes staring just behind the guard.

The burly man scowled, reaching forward to shove the much smaller person in the chest. They immediately halted, head lulling slightly to one side. They stood there, still as death in front of the other.

Eventually, the guard spoke up.

"What, you gonna do something?" He paused, waiting for some response. He leaned down slightly, holding his clenched fist in front of the costumed man. They were covered in tattoos. The pinky finger was missing, a small nub extending from the palm of his hand.

"You know what this means, right?"

The dull green figure didn't react in the slightest.

"You- oh, fuck this." He grunted, rearing his fist back, only to send it launching directly into the vigilante's jaw. There was a solid _snap _of a jaw bone as the young man's body crumpled, flying back into a pile of trash bags reflecting the purple light. The guard looked at his fist, stained with blood and bits of shattered plastic. He grimaced as he wiped the detritus off with the leg of his pants. "Damn brat can't even show proper respect."

The sound of thick plastic crinkling caught his attention, his eyes snapping back to the pile of garbage his quirk enhanced muscles launched the poor kid into. He almost seemed to drag himself upright, like a puppet on strings. His head sank forward, copious streams of blood dripping out from under his visor and onto the ground. His bat remained loosely gripped in his palm as he pulled himself back onto the concrete.

His head snapped back up, eyes losing their glaze as the man's aloof stare centered on the burly suited guard in front of him.

"I was gonna let you drag yourself to the hospital, but if you insist-" He sauntered forward, launching another hook towards the injured vigilante.

The same move he used to land a hit ended with his fingers exploding in pain as they met the hard lacquered wood of a bat mid-swing. He screamed, arm retreating as he clutched it to his chest. He felt something wet seep into his undershirt, looking down just long enough to see his digits bent horribly out of shape.

Before he could react, a second swing met its mark- the bat colliding into his temple with a sickening _crack_. The force of the blow was unnaturally strong, sending him crashing to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. His vision went blurry, only refocusing as he felt a weight crash into his chest. He blinked the pain induced tears away, only to see the vigilante pushing his knees into the guard's chest, arms raised with the bat behind his head.

He raised his arms up, but he wasn't fast enough. His sight was filled with the red-stained bat, a sharp pain erupting in the center of his forehead as the assailant repeatedly struck him with the bat with reckless abandon.

His heart raced, a wild fear paralyzing him as he was subjected to the relentless onslaught. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, with him completely unable to do a single thing.

"Please, _please stop_." He quietly begged, sobbing as the strikes continued, their repeated impacts only growing duller and duller as the trauma caused his senses to weaken. "I beg you... please... _mercy_ ..."

Eventually, his sight completely blacked out- his only indication that he was still alive being the jolting his body made as his brain rattled around his skull. But even that began to dull.

He knew he wasn't going to come out of this alive. In the end he could only mentally beg that his thick skull would crack open and end the torture.

Eventually the impacts stopped, and in the final phases of his conscious life he could only hear one final sound:

The person who had attacked him fell to their knees beside his dying body, heaving and emptying the contents of their stomach on the concrete. Eventually, they got back up, dragging the wooden bat behind them, the clattering sound growing dimmer as it moved away from him and into the pachinko parlor he was stationed to protect.

* * *

Bakugou tugged at the collar of his costume, teeth quietly grinding as he scowled. He could never get used to this kind of material - it itched like hell and dug into his neck, but it was the only kind of fabric the municipal office would give him. He shook his head, looking down to read the instructions he was given. He wasn't quite familiar with Kabukicho, but the mass of police officers crowding around a seemingly abandoned alley told him he was at his destination. He didn't bother to introduce himself, pushing past the uniformed men and ducking under the yellow and black tape cordoning the section off from the public. He ignored their mildly annoyed protests as he proceeded down the corridor.

This place looked completely different during the daytime; without the neon and the darkness to cover up the grime, the place looked downtrodden, with weeks old garbage lining the slightly damp walls. The fire escapes had a tinge of rust to them and the whole place smelled absolutely terrible.

The pro hero stopped outside of the building he was summoned to- a rundown pachinko parlor, so far out of the way and with almost nothing to bring foot traffic. From the onset it seemed stupid to put something like this out here, but he already had more than a few ideas as to how this place came to be.

He looked to the right of the door, a bright white chalk outline staring back at him. The person who used to lay there was flush to the ground, but the mist-like spattering of dried blood that coated the concrete and nearby wall told him enough about the situation. His eyes snapped to the garage door entrance to the parlor, a figure in a trench coat emerging from the shadows to greet him.

"It's been a while, Bakugou." The detected nodded, a notepad and pen firmly in his grasp. "I hope you remember me, we met on more than one occasion during your years at Yuuei."

"Officer Tsukauchi." The hero curtly acknowledged, pursing his lips as he looked away.

"Detective, actually." He corrected, "But we rarely knew each other so I can't blame you for not knowing that."

"Just skip the pleasantries." He batted back, tips of his fingers twitching. "Why am I here?"

"To put it bluntly, I will be needing the assistance of a hero in the very near future." He looked down at his notepad, scribbling a few more notes onto the small sheets of paper. "I needed a particular type of hero, and you fit the bill quite perfectly. I notified the Office of Municipal Heroes and they were able to pause your conduct review and lift your administrative leave- provided I don't decide to rescind it. You understand what that means, right?"

"Yeah, it means I get to be your little lap dog-"

"It _means..._" Tsukauchi cut him off, scowling as he scribbled a few more notes down. "It means that I'm giving you a second chance. And if you do your job, I'll make sure you get to keep your career as a hero."

The two stared silently at the other for a moment, before Bakugou broke the quiet din of the city.

"Why are you doing this, then?"

"I have my own reasons. But I think you'll see soon why I settled on you as my choice." He turned around, waving to the hero to follow him.

The hero sauntered after the police officer, brow furrowing as he grumbled silently. The colorful glow of the LEDs on the machines and the CRT displays casted a colorful glow on everything, creating lurid spirals that coated his own skin. Tsukauchi led him further back, opening a door to reveal a staircase that led to the second story of the building.

The moment his eyes were able to peer over the top step, Bakugou froze in place as his expression fell into one of shock. The halls looked like they came straight from a horror film, with streaks and pools of blood forming along the walls and stiff carpet. White tape was used to mark where the bodies were found, and along many of the outlines there were bits and small chunks of organic matter that the hero wasn't able to identify. The place was absolutely covered in tape- in just this one hall, there were at least 6 different outlines.

"What... the..." He choked out, as if his breath was knocked out of him.

"That's what I thought when I got here." Tsukauchi echoed, his eyes hardening as they slowly scanned the scene. "Two of our techs had to vomit while they were transporting the bodies- neither of them were new. I've never seen anything like it."

A door opened on the other end of the hall, with two techs slowly carrying a body bag at opposite ends. They slowly moved towards the stairs, and the detective and hero pressed themselves against the wall to let them pass down the narrow passage.

"That reminds me," Tsukauchi reached into his pocket, fishing out a pair of large shoe covers. "Put these on before you get up the stairs. I don't want your treads leaving dirt all over my crime scene."

Bakugou took them from the detective, stretching the fabric over his shoes until they were completely covered by the thin plastic. He climbed the rest of the steps into the hallway, face contorting into a snarl as the putrid smell shot through his nostrils. The older man produced a small vial of liquid, handing it to the pro hero.

"Peppermint oil." He explained, tapping his nose. "Useful for people who don't see this often. It'll clear your nose for a few minutes... just don't spill any."

The blonde unscrewed the cap, taking a whiff of the strong scent. "What _is_ that smell?"

"Blood, rot, you name it. Plus, bodies usually eject their... waste when they die. And with about twenty-five bodies sitting here for the past few days... it doesn't help that this place doesn't have any sort of central air system in here." He stepped forward, staring at the stains left on the walls.

Bakugou stood there silently, unsure of what he was even supposed to do. It wasn't his job to investigate massacres, he wasn't even aware of how he would be able to help.

"You understand why I brought you here, right?" The detective looked back towards the hero. "I wanted to make sure you knew how serious this was."

Bakugou's eyes widened, fists clenched as he gulped. "Do you know who did this?"

"Not a clue. No security footage, not even signs of a unique quirk. Actually..." He trailed off, pulling a camera from out of his trench coat.

Bakugou walked towards him, peering over his shoulder to see what the detective was looking at. His stomach churned as the digital screen on the back of the device sprang to life- it was a slideshow of the bodies that used to be here, slumped along the floor and walls. Many of them sported blunt trauma deformities to the head, but quite a few of them were clutching at their stained necks. The blood had long since coagulated, turning into a dark blackish color. It took the hero a great deal of effort to bite back the urge to puke.

"What can you tell from these bodies, Ground Zero?" He leaned to the side, giving the costumed man a better look.

"That's fucking disgusting!" He grunted through the hand covering his mouth.

"Indeed, but I realized something just now-" He paused, turning the screen off to help allay the pro hero. "The person doing this took a lot of swings at these guys. He didn't have the strength to do a clean job. I think we can rule out any kind of strength enhancing quirk."

"How is that supposed to help?!"

"It helps a great deal, actually. Most quirks just enhance physical ability... and if the suspect had one, I would expect him to rely on it, but he doesn't. Whatever this person's quirk is, it must be better geared towards a support role. If not... we would have seen signs of it, because right now this looks more like a brutal fight than anything else."

"If they even have a quirk at all." Bakugou muttered.

Tsukauchi's eyes widened in shock, before quickly snapping back to attention as he began scribbling down even more notes.

"I didn't even consider that... if the suspect didn't have a quirk, that would open up a lot of new possibilities." He clicked his pen, shoving the writing equipment back into his pocket. "I think it's going to be a great help having you around for this case."

The blonde scowled, teeth grinding as he took another whiff of the peppermint oil.

"Let's just get this over with. I want to be put back on patrol as soon as possible."

"Not so fast." The detective chided, shaking his head. "These things take time. But you already knew that."

"What are you talking about?"

The older man shrugged, a small smirk pulling out of his lips. "Nothing, I'm just saying you're smarter than the impression you give to others. For example... what is this place?"

The hero's face twisted into a quizzical impression, head slightly jerking back in confusion.

"It's a pachinko parlor."

"Come on, Bakugou. I know you're better than that." He stretched out his arms slightly. "What is this place _really_?"

They stared silently at each other, before the hero sighed and closed his eyes. "It's a place the Yakuza use for money laundering, isn't it?"

"And what makes you think that?"

"It's a parlor that no one can find, filled with outdated machines. Something's gotta pay the bills around here."

"And the Yakuza?"

"...Some of the guys in those photos are missing their little fingers."

Tsukauchi grinned, hands clasping together as he nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I knew you would be a good choice for this case."

Bakugou was taken aback by the pleased expression of the detective. It had the facsimile of a snake that wrapped its coils around its next meal. Before he could say anything, the law official walked back to the stairs, motioning for the hero to follow.

"We'll let the techs take care of the rest of the scene. For now, let's get back to the office and talk about the scope of your new assignment."

* * *

Izuku rubbed his shoulders, grunting quietly as he leaned against a few pallets of vacuum sealed coffee bags in the storage room. He was sore all over- slept on his back the wrong way, he figured. It wouldn't be the first time he woke up with his muscles tense and stiff. He rolled the tendons in his back, tilting his head side to side as he tried to will some of the pain away. After a few moments of stretching, he sighed, shaking his head as he pushed the swinging door open, stepping back into the semi-bustling front of the coffee shop.

The bell screwed into the entrance chimed, which caused Izuku to instinctively bow and cheerfully greet the newcomer.

"Welcome to Takamagahara!" He exclaimed, bending at the waist slightly as he put his best smile on. "What would you like today?"

The person approaching the counter looked slightly familiar, but it wasn't until they lowered the hood of their blue and white jacket that the green haired server recognized him.

"Oh! Yuuki, right?"

The young man seemed mildly surprised, his own red eyes widening as he nervously laughed.

"Yeah, that's me." He rubbed the back of his head, a small blush of embarrassment creeping up on his cheeks. Perhaps it was due to personal experience, but Izuku could recognize the familiar expression of someone not used to being recognized by strangers.

Actually, without the din of the neon night, he could make out Yuuki's features a lot more clearly. His black hair was slicked back, the tips fraying out into different directions at the base of his neck. A set of canines poked out from his upper lip, pressing into the skin below them. A grey scarf was tightly coiled around his throat, the loose ends tucked away under the rest of the hoodie.

"Vanilla mocha, extra sugar... right?"

"Oh! Uh... Yeah, that's actually right on the money. The sweeter you make it, the better!"

Izuku nodded, his smile growing a little bit wider. "Not a problem. Go ahead and find a good place to sit. I'll bring it to you when it's ready."

Yuuki mumbled something, but Izuku couldn't make out what was being said as the patron turned and took a booth next to the window facing the alleyway. He tapped the tip of his foot rapidly against the tile floor, chin resting on his palm as he stared outside.

The green haired barista wasted no time in preparing the drink- press the coffee into the portafilter, let the machine extract the coffee, mix with steamed milk and chocolate and vanilla syrup, dump in a ton of sugar. He could practically do it all in his sleep.

Once he was done, he pulled out a small tray, placing the mug of coffee on top as he carried it to the table. He placed the drink gently in front of the distracted man, before resting the tray on his hip.

"So... you have some kind of vampirism quirk?" Izuku tilted his head, eyes shining with a bit of curiosity.

The color from Yuuki's face drained as his head snapped to face the person asking him.

"N-no... I... U-uh... Well, my mom does, but... it didn't carry over. I just got the looks for it." He laughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head. "Got the extra bone in my toe and everything..."

Izuku's face contorted into one of horror as he recognized the conversational landmine he casually stepped on.

"O-oh! I'm so sorry about asking you that..." He bowed deeply, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, no, no!" The vampiric man waved his hands frantically, nervously urging the barista to return upright. "It's a common question! Plus I know you didn't mean anything by it. You're quirkless too, aren't you?"

The green haired waiter blinked in shock. "Y-yeah? I... uh... How did you know that?"

Yuuki looked just as genuinely confused as Izuku did, before closing his eyes and nervously laughing.

"W-well, I mean... if I'm being honest I can't imagine you having one. I mean... people with quirks don't usually work at places like this unless they have a special ability to add to... and you don't seem to be using a quirk, so..."

"Yeah, that's true..." He mumbled, muttering something inaudible under his breath. "Maybe I should take notes on that..."

"Notes?" Yuuki's ears perked up, his nervousness just slightly melting away. "What do you take notes on?"

"O-oh, I... I kinda... keep notes... about heroes and their quirks..." He felt his face turn red, tilting his head to look away from the shop's patron. "It's stupid, I know-"

"No it's not!" He interrupted, a look of excitement growing on his face. "I do that too! I think heroes' quirks are awesome! Do you have your journals on you?"

Izuku seemed genuinely taken aback by the prospect of someone wanting to actually read his notes.

"...No?" He asked nervously, his heart skipping a beat.

"You have to show me sometime!" Yuuki jittered out, fists tightly clenched at his chest. "I'll probably be back here next week, sometime at night. I can bring my journals and you can bring yours, and then we can trade notes- if you're okay with that... that is."

"I... I'd have to check my schedule, but... yeah I think that'll work." Izuku felt his patron's excitement seeping into him, getting _him_ pumped up for the meeting as well. "I think it'll be a lot of fun!"

"Awesome!" He quietly cheered, pumping his fist in victory.

A flash of white caught itself in the corner of the barista's eye, and his head turned to focus on it. A dove had landed on the windowsill, its pinkish-orange beak tapping insistently on the glass pane. The noise caught the attention of the patron as well.

"That's a rare sight..." Izuku muttered.

"What's a Messenger doing here at this time of day?" Yuuki whispered under his breath.

"Messenger?" The green haired man echoed. "What do you-?"

Both of them jumped as the sound of something crashing onto the tile floor sharply echoed across the small shop. Izuku looked over at the source of a noise- apparently someone had dropped their mug, spilling the dark liquid everywhere as white ceramic shards slid in different directions. Izuku quickly rushed to the incident, pulling a small dustpan out from behind the counter as he made his way over.

"Are you okay, sir?" Izuku nervously asked, quickly sweeping up the bits of broken material. "I'll get this cleaned up right away. Would you like me to make you another cup on the house?"

The barista looked up to see a large burly man hunched over the tabletop, his harsh eyes piercing into the young man in a way he didn't think possible. It sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing.

"No." He curtly replied. "I'm fine."

"...Alright, then." He replied, his vocal cords tightening with the threatening man looming over him. "Let me put this in the dumpster, and then I'll clean the liquid up right away. Please be careful!"

The large man watched as Izuku scurried into the back room and outside of the restaurant.

The moment the barista was no longer in sight, the entire coffee shop grew deathly silent. All of the patrons turned in their seats to face Yuuki, staring the young man down as he gulped thickly.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry, guys..." He raised his hands, beads of sweat forming on his brow as his eyes darted back and forth between the rest of the room. "I-It w-was a s-s-simple mis- mistake! Won't happen again... I p-promise."

He didn't get any kind of verbal response. He held his breath as they continued to stare him down, only relenting when Izuku returned.

The instant the green haired man came back in, everyone turned in their seats, the chattering and bustling returning as if it had never ended. Yuuki felt a rush of air escape his lungs as he watched the barista frantically clear the puddle of liquid on the ground. He shielded his face with his palms, gasping heavily as he realized just how badly things could have gone.

He quickly finished his drink, putting his hood over his head as he slammed his own mug on the tabletop. He quickly rushed out, feeling the side-eyed glares the other patrons gave them as he passed their tables.

Within seconds, Yuuki was back on the busy streets, fading into the crowds and back into obscurity once more.

* * *

_Yokumitsu sat on the thin spring mattress, legs crossed in front of him as he scrolled through his phone, tapping lazily through the news app preloaded onto the phone. He leaned back, bouncing roughly against the barely usable furniture as he held the device above him with both hands. The light shone down on him, reflecting softly off his mirror mask and around the dingy ethereal apartment. The only other source of light was the television, its soft blue static casting a haze over everything. _

_"Jeez, Izuku." He whispered, half-annoyed. "All his news is configured for hero stuff. Where's the politics? Science?" _

_He heard a rough grunt from the other end of the room. Machihan was there, poised over a cold metal table. On top of it was Izuku's body, roughly splayed as if he was just casually dumped on the hard surface. The man wearing a blood red samurai helmet was slowly slicing the young man's arm open with a dull scalpel, sticking his fingers into the wounds he was creating. Once he was done, he brushed his fingers over the sliced section, sealing it shut with no scars. He turned to his side, dipping his hands in a bowl of cold water to remove the blood. _

_"All of Japan is like that." He muttered. "Makes me want to beat the shit out of someone." _

_"Well, that's what you got him there for, isn't it?" Yokumitsu snidely remarked, shrugging. _

_"You're right." The man grabbed a towel, drying his hands. He lifted the unconscious human's arm, massaging the muscles as if checking to see if they grew. "But this creature will be so much more than that." _

_"Still clinging to your old ambitions?" The man with the mirror-dome mask replied, eyes settling back onto the phone. "You're just as stubborn as ever." _

_"And you're just as childish as ever, brat." Machihan bit back._

_"I am not a child!" Yokumitsu threw the phone down, sitting back up as he slammed his fist into the mattress. _

_"I'm not the one who threw a temper tantrum and got cast away by my family." _

_"Watch it, half-breed." The other man bit back, eliciting an indignant glare from the more aggressive of the two beings there. "Don't forget who is older than who here. This is still MY domain. I can kill you and your pet the instant I feel like it." _

_"Have it your way, then." Machihan relented, his voice growing colder by the second. "I won't fight a battle I can't win. Our agreement still stands. I will use this place as I see fit." _

_An alarm clock beside the bed suddenly chirped, causing both masked men to snap their heads in its direction. Yokumitsu leaned over, flipping the device's switch to turn off the incessant, shrill noise. _

_"It's time." The mirror-masked man concluded, pointing to the door. "Unless you have anything else to do to the boy, leave." _

* * *

Bakugou quickly realized how quiet the police station got at night; most of the officers left once the sun went down. It was the polar opposite of the municipal hero offices, which were bustling all hours of the day. With hundreds of heroes staffed and even more villains to take care of, there was never a quiet moment.

He felt uncomfortable, both from the lack of noise and the lack of action. He had been sitting in this open office room for what felt like an eternity, poring over files and testimony. It wasn't like he wasn't trying to put any thought into it, but there was basically nothing for him to go with. Just a bunch of neighbors who said they didn't see anything and some bloody shoeprints. It was at least an hour or so since he slammed the stack of pages onto the small desk he was given, kicking his feet up as he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through forums.

His break was eventually interrupted as Tsukauchi slammed his hand on the door handle, swinging the cheap wooden slab open as he strode inside. Without missing a beat he walked over to Bakugou's seat, hooking his arm underneath the pro-hero's legs and pulling them off the desk. The startled blonde stuttered out a wordless protest as he lost his balance, waving his arms as his feet fell to the ground.

"That's not a footrest." The detective chided, taking a seat at the desk next to his. "Disrespect the equipment again and I'll send you packing back into unpaid leave. Understood?"

Bakugou sighed, gritting his teeth to hide his quickly building anger. "Yeah, yeah. Got it."

"Good. So did you make any breaks with the evidence?"

"There's barely anything here, of course I didn't!" He bit back, his voice grinding like gravel in a mill.

"So, you're browsing the web then because...?" Tsukauchi trailed off, folding his arms as he stared the delinquent hero down.

"There's nothing for me to do right now." He slid the scraps of paper over to his hostile superior. "All of these testimonies are a bunch of fucking lies, anyway-"

"What do you mean?" The detective cut him off, his gaze hardening.

"Of course no one would say anything- they're all living in Yakuza territory. You took these interviews yourself, couldn't you tell? I thought your quirk tells you when someone is talking bullshit."

"Normally you would be right, but my quirk didn't get triggered." The older man corrected, much to the blonde's shock. "They were all telling the bona fide truth."

"Do you expect me to get anything from a bunch of extras who didn't see anything?"

"I would have at least liked to have seen you organize this." Tsukauchi chided, grabbing the stack of papers as he stood up. He took the scraps to a cork board, using a set of pins to attach them in a grid pattern to the wall. "You never know when this will come in handy."

Bakugou snuffed, shaking his head as he defiantly stared at the ceiling.

"Tell me then, Ground Zero, what were you looking up on your phone? Seeing what the forums were saying about you?"

"Go fuck yourself." He bit back, crossing his arms as he tilted the chair back on its hind legs. "_For your information,_ I was seeing what Kabukicho does for All Might Day."

The moment the words left Bakugou's mouth, Tsukauchi froze in place. His hand shook slightly, the pin poised just over the soft cork of the board in front of him.

"Right... that's in three days." He quietly muttered to himself. He jabbed the pin into the board, setting up the final slip of paper evidence. "I should check to see what they're doing, too. I believe you have some history with him."

Bakugou felt his feet give out from under him, the chair slamming back to its upright position as he stared back at the detective. "You could say that, yeah. It was national news."

"I was working support on that operation. Toshi- All Might... was a good friend of mine."

Both of them remained still, the silence of the room bearing down on them like lead weights.

Tsukauchi finally broke the quiet, turning around and heading back to his desk. He pulled a file from the drawer, sliding it over to Bakugou.

"If you don't have anything to do, then I've got a side assignment for you."

Bakugou flipped open the cover, eyes widening as a very familiar sketch of someone stared back at him.

It was a young man around his age, with purple hair spiked up and away from his body. His eyes were almost consumed by wrinkles, their dark countenance indicating a severe lack of sleep.

"Do I know this guy?" He asked, showing the detective the picture.

"You might. He was at your high school for two years. Shinsou Hitoshi."

"That's right, he was the guy who hypnotized Tail-boy. Dumbass dropped out of the sports festival over some honor bullshit."

"That's the one." Tsukauchi nodded. "Shinsou dropped out of the general education course at Yuuei. Just vanished one day. Word on the street is that he became the vigilante known as Mesmer."

"So he's wanted." Bakugou concluded.

"Not quite." The detective shook his head. "All traces of him vanished about a month ago. He was last seen here in Kabukicho. He specializes in information brokerage, and with the large amount of insider knowledge he amassed, I'm concerned the Yakuza might be involved."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"For now, I just want you to canvas the area. No hero costumes or anything. Just... think of it like you're taking a walk. All I want you to do is find and report anything suspicious, okay? No engaging the enemy unless you have to."

"...alright, got it." Bakugou sighed closing the file. "Kabukicho is huge, though, so don't be surprised if I don't find anything."

Tsukauchi nodded, silently waving the pro hero away. After a short trip to the locker room, Bakugou was dressed up in jeans and a grey hoodie, ready to trek out into the neon district and find his target.

The moment he stepped out of the automatic sliding doors of the police office, he was bombarded with the bright and colorful lights, cascading over the thick crowds, begging them to go into the nearest host clubs and bars. The blonde pulled the hood over his head, hunching his shoulders as he began to slowly stroll the red light district.

He kept his head down, slipping in between the crowds as he tried to pick up on bits of passing conversation. There was a lot of chattering about daily life, cries from club representatives getting people to come in and drink with them, tons of camera shutter noises...

But listening to everyone began to set him on edge. He knew that there was a strong presence from the Yakuza here... the industry demanded their presence. But it was only just now that he was able to understand just how much they permeated the streets around this section of Tokyo. They were so open about everything, casually walking down the street as they discussed who they beat into submission, how much "supply" they had... it settled in that he wasn't a fox in a henhouse, but rather a fox among wolves. No wonder Tsukauchi told him to not engage.

He peered down some of the alleyways as he passed them, but he couldn't make anything of significance out. Most of the time it was either empty or had someone emptying their bowels as they pressed their weight against the brick and metal walls. He cringed at the sight, shaking his head as he continued to explore the city-

Bakugou's thoughts ground to a halt as he felt someone collide with his shoulder. The force was strong enough to send him stumbling to the side. He shook his head, quickly regaining his footing as he tried to find the person who pushed him. His eyes settled on a rather strange sight.

A costumed figure, clad entirely in a green and white tracksuit strode down the busy street, baseball bat casually slung over his shoulder and perched loosely between his gloved fingers. He wore some kind of wool jacket, something he only saw in classic American movies. Atop his head sat two cloth extensions, pointed upwards and shaped like rabbit ears. Bakugou found that his eyes were naturally drawn downwards, settling on a pair of bright red shoes. The sight brought back some weird sense of nostalgia, but he wasn't sure just quite _what_ it was.

He reached his hand out to grab the costumed figure, but he froze as he realized something; everyone else was just moving out of this person's way, almost as if they were just stepping around a tree stump. No one seemed to notice his presence at all. He was distracted again as the same people began to bump into him, glaring at him as if he jumped in their path.

A second figure passed by him, his outfit even more striking than the strange green clad person. He wore normal sneakers and jeans, but his neon purple puffer jacket practically forced onlookers to stare at him. The sleeves were torn off, bits of cotton fluff hanging out as he strode between the opposing crowds. His head was completely obscured covered by a teal biker helmet with a deeply tinted visor. A chain that was wrapped around his waist jingled, ringing softly into Bakugou's ears, goading him to follow.

The pro hero quickly stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. Thin man seemed taken aback at the intrusion, freezing as he saw the blonde's glare peeking out from under the hoodie.

"You're following that guy, right?"

"...You can see him, too?"

The two of them looked back down the street, only to find the costumed figure completely gone.

"Shit." Bakugou hissed.

The pro hero felt the other man tear himself from his iron grip, running down the bustling, crowded walkways. The blonde quickly followed, keeping his eyes trained on the one strange person he could see. They both stopped next to an intersection, looking around frantically for the unsettling, bat wielding person. The man in the biker helmet's head turned towards an alley, cutting through the busy traffic to move down the unlit corridor. Bakugou quickly followed.

"Hey, Biker-head! What do you think you're doing?" He called out.

The mysterious person slowed to a stop, turning around to face his newfound partner.

"Trying to find him." He replied, his voice deep but smooth. He shook his head. "I think we lost him."

"You mean he lost us?"

"No. He wasn't running from anything. He never does."

The pro hero felt his mouth hang open in confusion. He looked around, trying to find any trace of the strange man, but found nothing. His gaze returned to the neon clad acquaintance in front of him. It was only just then that he noticed something; there was a dark blue insignia embroidered onto the makeshift puffer vest, three star-shaped leaves next to each other, sprouting out of a splay of 5 thin, blade-like leaves progressively pointing downwards. It looked familiar to the blonde, but he couldn't quite remember where he saw it.

"Who is he?" Bakugou asked, an unnatural sense of caution welling up within him.

"...It's complicated." He replied. He paused, the black space the man's eyes would be staring him down. "...Do you consider yourself a good person?"

"I- what?" The hero stammered, clenching his fists. "Of course I am! I'm a hero, after all!"

"...I see." The Biker sighed, nodding. "Well, if you're really a good person, then you'll be fine."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bakugou asked. "And why do I feel like I recognize him?"

"Oh! Maybe that's why you can see him." He tilted his head up, thoughtfully rubbing his thumb and index finger along the rim of his helmet. "Your past experience with him breaks the effect. I think I've seen you on the news before."

A sense of indignant anger washed over Bakugou, his eyes darkening. "Yeah? And?"

The Biker shrugged. "Nothing. I've seen your face, that's all."

"Well I haven't seen yours. Who are you?" The hero took a step forward, reaching out to grab the teal dome covering this stranger's face.

What happened next came and went as a blur. Just as his fingers were about to brush the smooth surface of the helmet, The Biker pulled the chain out from around his waist, wrapping it solidly around Bakugou's wrist as he yanked back. The hero stumbled forward, with the stranger's foot jutted out just far enough to trip him, sending him flying forward and sprawling onto the ground. Before he could get up, there was a bright flash of light, a wave of heat coursing over his prone body. The next instant, a torrent of ice cold water came crashing down, pressing him further into the concrete.

Bakugou scrambled to his feet, but by the time he regained his composure, he could see The Biker rushing across the rooftops, jumping between buildings as he made his escape.

The hero growled, fingers splayed out as sparks flew out of his palms. That guy was just _begging_ for a fight-

The moment the thought crossed his mind, he grunted, straightening his back as he clenched his fists. Tsukauchi told him to avoid fighting whenever possible, and...

"Damn it!" Bakugou slammed his hands onto his legs in frustration. "Rat bastard cop holding my fucking job over me."

He shook his head, trying to fling some of the water off of him to no avail. He pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned around and sauntered back to the police station. He wasn't sure if he should bother telling the detective that he was sent on a wild goose chase.

"Fucking waste of time." The hero muttered. "Next time he needs grunt work done, he can get an intern to do it for him."

* * *

_Yokumitsu wasn't given much of a reprieve after Machihan left. Neo-Mokai had wasted no time barging into the mirror-masked man's abode, inspecting the green-haired adult's skull intently. _

_The master of the domain watched with a mild interest as the squid-faced being lightly patted Izuku's cheek, stirring him and waking him up from his slumber. He stared at the two masked figures in a half-dazed stare, mouthing something unintelligible as Neo-Mokai drew closer. _

_Yokumitsu brought his legs to his chest, watching as the other man quickly bound the green-haired barista to a chair with a combination of rough nylon rope and some leather belts. After securing the barista's head firmly against the headrest, the man with a squid mask stepped between the other two inhabitants of the room. _

_The mirror-masked man couldn't tell what Neo-Mokai was doing, his back turned as he leaned close to Izuku's face. The only thing he could see was the gloved hands bound to the armrests, stiffening and locking into place as his fingers shot out and curled together in what appeared to be excruciating pain. There was no scream, no plea for mercy. The only noise was the cheap plastic chair repeatedly rattling against the tile floor as the restrained occupant trembled wildly. _

_This continued for a good while, culminating in Neo-Mokai yanking his head back, his mask's tentacles spattering putrid, stagnant water all over the floor. Izuku fell limp, growing still as his body slumped against the bindings. His eyes were as wide as saucers, eyelids twitching intermittently as a thin line of drool dripped from his open mouth. _

_"Making adjustments?" The mirror-masked man asked, his gaze returning to Izuku's phone as he began to browse the young adult's photo gallery. "Machihan won't be happy." _

_"Well, he's not here, and you won't bother to tell him that I was." The squid-faced being snidely remarked. "That would cause a conflict you don't want to deal with." _

_"Who in their right mind wants to deal with all your squabbling?" Yokumitsu scoffed, dismissively waving his hand. "Seriously... you two are making me regret letting you into my domain." _

_"You don't regret a thing." The other being immediately rebutted, turning to face the man still sitting on the bed. "How long has it been since you've even spoken to anyone? You can't make me believe you're not getting a thrill out of finally having someone to talk to." _

_The man in a mirror dome mask opted to not respond, pulling his knees up to his chin as he leaned closer to the phone screen. _

_"You know..." Neo-Mokai trailed off, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. "The rest of the family isn't mad anymore. All they want is an apology, that's it-" _

_"They're not getting one!" Yokumitsu grunted in frustration, his grip tightening on the phone so much that his hand began to shake. "I won't apologize for that... disgusting... thing!" _

_The man in a squid mask paused for a moment, before huffing and shaking his head. "Fine, have it your way, I guess. Just remember, if you want to see your dad and sister... well, it's just two words. That's all." _

_"Not happening." He adamantly insisted, pointing to the door. "Now go." _

_Neo-Mokai shrugged, walking to the exit. As he placed his fingertips on the handle, he turned to utter one last thing. _

_"I forgot to mention, I figured I would make a sort of 'thank you present' for facilitating this whole ordeal." He pointed back towards the limp Izuku. "While Machihan's little warrior is out and about, I made it so the Original will do whatever you ask while he's stuck in here. I figured you might want some company." _

_Yokumitsu was stunned into speechlessness as he watched his other counterpart leave. He turned his head back to the green-haired man, who was still sitting in the chair like a puppet with no strings. _

_The mirror-masked man slowly pushed himself off the bed, stepping quietly to the bound human. He cautiously removed the rope and belt bindings, before crouching to stare directly at Izuku's face. _

_He was no longer in a state of shock and drooling on himself. His eyes were devoid of any emotion or consciousness, blankly staring at the man in front of him. Yokumitsu experimentally leaned from side to side, watching as the bright green irises followed him. _

_"Stand." He barked, watching as Izuku quickly rose to his feet. The mirror-masked man pointed to a spot next to the bed, continuing. "Bring the chair over there and sit down." _

_He watched as the twenty-year old man dragged the chair to the desired location, reseating himself as he stared intently at the older-looking man. _

_Yokumitsu quickly scrambled back to the bed, jumping onto the mattress and turning to face Izuku as he plopped down into a seiza-style position, hands clutching his knees in giddy excitement. _

_"Okay, Izuku..." He trailed off, his voice containing more than a trace of glee. "Tell me a story!" _

* * *

Hari Kurono wasted no time in returning to his chambers as he stepped into his safe house. The packs of roaming guards bowed to him as he walked by; he ignored them, opting to treat his security detail as nothing more than a background decoration. He proceeded down a few twisting hallways, stopping at a reinforced door with a single guard carrying an assault rifle stationed in front of it. The subordinate saluted his boss, waiting for the regular round of questioning to begin.

"Did anything happen while I was out?" Kurono calmly asked the man.

"No, sir!" The guard barked back, his tone unabashedly showcasing his experience in the JSDF. "Our guest hasn't made any attempt to escape."

"Good." He curtly nodded, terse gaze focusing back on the door. "Do whatever you want for the rest of the night. I'll let you know when to return to your post later."

The guard saluted him again, stance relaxing as he passed by the Yakuza boss and turned the corner.

Kurono fished a ring of keys from his pocket, flipping through the dozen or so metal objects as he found the one he was looking for. He quickly jammed it into the bolted lock, turning it as he heard the metal rod inside the door slide back with a solid _ka-thunk._ He turned the handle, slowly opening the entrance to the bedroom.

What was once pitch black gradually became visible as the light from outside began to illuminate the room. The Yakuza boss could just barely make out the form he was looking for- a chair tucked away in the corner of the room, a limp figure firmly bound into the seat. A flip of a nearby light switch covered the bedroom in a harsh white light, but it caused no reaction to the captive person.

The Yakuza boss slowly approached him, producing a small pistol loaded with an injector dart. He hovered the barrel just above the man's thigh, pulling the trigger and watching as a temporary quirk-disabling bullet rushed out and sunk itself into the skin, flooding the hostage's bloodstream with the maligned, viscous fluid.

"I apologize for being so late." Kurono emotionlessly began. "Normally I'm more prompt with greeting guests, but with our rapid expansion, I've had more responsibilities on my plate than I'd like. But that's neither here nor there."

The bound man looked emaciated, having been starved over the past month. His hair was a deep purple, matted and soiled with what appeared to be dried blood. It hung over his face like a wet towel, obscuring his features. The Yakuza waited for a response, but didn't seem surprised that there wasn't any.

"I'm not one to play word games with people, so I won't waste either of our time. Overhaul let Deidoro have some fun with you after your previous escapades exposed a lab we were using to create more Trigger. Then once he was done, Shin extracted every bit of info we could out of you. You understand what this means, right?"

Kurono removed his gloves, grabbing the man by his hair and yanking his head back. The stiff, grimy locks of hair fell back to reveal a barely cognizant expression- his glassy, purple eyes stared into an imaginary void in front of him, jaw slack and hanging open. He resembled a lobotomized patient more than a functional human.

But Kurono knew better. "We know who you are, Shinsou Hitoshi. We know where you live. We know every single contact and friend you've ever had. There's no way you'll be able to escape from us. So with that in mind... I'd like to extend an offer."

He let go of Shinsou's head, watching as it rolled back in a hanging position. Sighing, the Yakuza grabbed his head again, tilting it to the side of the room. An alcove was carved out of the otherwise rectangular walls, the inside of which featured a white cloak with a beak-shaped mask, a pair of embedded goggles peeking out from the top. The outfit could be near universally recognized to any Japanese citizen; it was the old costume for Chronostasis, right hand man to Overhaul himself.

"I'm sure you recognize this already, don't you? It's been a while since I wore it, but you should know who that makes me." He turned the captive's head back towards him. "With my endorsement... Just think about it- all you have to do is become an exclusive contractor for us. As a member of the Eight Precepts of Death, we would not only provide for you, but we can ensure the continued safety of your friends and family. I hope you can understand how generous this proposal is-"

Kurono's head snapped up at the sound of gunfire rapidly echoing through the hallways. He immediately dropped Shinsou's head, rushing to his desk as he flung open his laptop. With just a few clicks, he brought up the security feeds. His eyes widened at the sheer brutality on display, rivaling Rappa's own taste for blood.

A young man in a green tracksuit and a rabbit mask was tearing his way through the building, rushing everyone in sight and savagely ripping them to tatters. The Yakuza boss felt his stomach drop, a foreboding weight pressing down between his shoulder blades.

This masked man- vigilante, perhaps, showed no mercy. Kurono could only watch as they grabbed a subordinate's head, slamming it into the frame of an open door. They stomped their foot on the guard's skull, holding it in place as he grabbed the door with both hands, pulling it back and slamming it into the downed man's face repeatedly. By the time he was done, the only thing that remained was a bloody pulp covered in paint chips.

The intruder reached down, grabbing a knife from the dead guard's belt. He passed down the next hallway, and threw it at the first person he saw. It landed cleanly into his neck. He keeled over, dropping his pistol and clutching his profusely bleeding neck. The masked man wasted no time, rushing over to grab the gun, shoving it into the man's mouth and pulling the trigger. He grabbed the hilt of the knife again, roughly tearing it out of the fresh corpse.

The next three men fell just as easily, their bodies riddled with bullets. The rabbit man didn't stop there, using the knife to puncture the arteries in their neck to ensure they wouldn't survive.

Kurono felt his hands tremble ever so slightly at the gory battle on display. He spent years curating the best talent suited for this safe house, and it was getting shredded like slips of thin paper. He watched as this vigilante methodically cleared the whole building, until the only room he hadn't touched was the one the Yakuza boss and his hostage were currently in. His blood grew cold as he saw the masked killer pull a nearby Kodachi from its decorative stand. He pulled the small sword from its wooden hilt, stabbing it into a nearby corpse to test its sharpness. Satisfied with the quality, he scavenged a pistol from the body and proceeded towards the boss' room, both weapons in hand.

The pale-haired man rushed to the door, pressing against it as he kept an eye on the camera monitors. He clutched the handle, gripping it tightly as he waited for the vigilante to get closer. He could hear the heavy breathing and dragging footsteps from the other side, gradually getting louder...

The Yakuza boss held his breath, twisting the knob and pulling the door open just slightly enough so that his hair could extend and rush through the small crevice he made. The clock hand tendrils raced down the hall, zeroing in on their target. Kurono felt as one of his attacks cleanly struck the intruder, the dull _thud_ of a body collapsing onto the carpet confirming a successful hit. He let out a sigh of relief, opening the door wider to gaze at his defeated adversary.

The man was lying face down, completely paralyzed for just one minute. But that's all that Chronostasis needed. He walked over to the vigilante, wresting the pistol from his weak grasp. He didn't bother rolling the body over, opting instead to shoot the mysterious man in the back of his head. He unloaded the rest of the clip into his body, ensuring his death.

Kurono quickly pulled out his phone, dialing the first number on his speed dial. After precisely two rings, the person on the other end of the line picked up.

_"What is it?"_ Overhaul asked, his voice blunt and devoid of any emotion.

"My safe house was attacked." The Yakuza boss quickly reported, walking back down the hall to his room. "Everyone aside from our hostage is dead."

_"I hope you're including the attacker."_

"I am." He tersely reassured him. "But this location is no longer secure. Furthermore..."

_"What?"_

"Whoever this person was... I've never seen someone so quickly dismantle as many people as this one has."

_"Was the security feed running?"_ The leader of the Eight Precepts intoned, just the slightest hint of interest rising in his voice. _"If they're as effective as you say, I want to see if there's anything we can learn. Preserve the body however you can and send me what footage you have." _

"Understood. Give me a moment." He placed the phone down next to the computer monitor, pulling a blank DVD from a nearby drawer. He put it into the computer, directing the security system to burn the last 15 minutes of video onto the disc. It wasn't long before the computer spat the physical media back out. Kurono quickly placed it into a paper sleeve, setting it down on the oak desk. He snapped the phone back up, placing it next to his ear.

"It's done. I'll bring it to you personally-"

His thoughts ground to a halt as the sound of heavy footsteps rushed up behind him. He only had enough time to turn around, watching helplessly as the blood covered vigilante swung at a downwards angle with the Kodachi, the blade sinking into his neck and tearing the skin open. He dropped his phone immediately, eyes wide as he felt the small sword get yanked from his throat, only to be swung again. There wasn't enough force behind the strikes to cleanly cut through the bone, so the killer had resorted to repeated hacking, like a lumberjack trying to fell a tree.

Kurono fell backwards, desperately extending his hair as he clutched at his open throat. The green-suited man grabbed the stems of his tendrils before they could strike, and with a rough swing he severed the hair from the head it originated from. He grabbed the Yakuza boss' wrists, tearing them away from the open wound and pinning them down with his foot. The second-in-command to the Eight Precepts of Death couldn't even scream at this point, his esophagus so flooded with blood that he could only gurgle in pain.

Overhaul could hear all of this, his worried protests growing quieter as he realized that his lifelong subordinate was in the process of getting butchered. The sword hacking continued for an excruciating amount of time, only ceasing when Chronostasis' head was separated from his body. Silence fell over the room, the only other noise being the tinny chime of the phone call ending.

The costumed man dropped the blade, chest moving up and down as he breathed heavily from the physical exertion. There was a hole in the costume, right at the center of his forehead. Blood leaked from the wound, travelling down his face to seep into one of the eyeholes of the mask. The killer didn't bother to wipe it from his face, only staring down at the dead Yakuza with an almost disinterested gaze.

The sound of something rustling got the attention of the vigilante. He turned his attention towards the corner of the room, where Shinsou was being kept hostage. His head was lifted only slightly, and through the clumps of unkempt hair a single purple eye stared back.

The blood-soaked intruder slowly walked over, tilting his head as he blankly observed the bound hostage. His lips were moving, but the only things coming out of Shinsou's mouth were hushed gasps and a dry tongue lolling against equally dry teeth. It wasn't long before the purple-haired man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, eyelids slowly closing as he passed out from delirium and exhaustion.

The masked man kneeled down and grabbed the hostage roughly by the chin. He tilted their head back up, apathetically staring at the hollowed out facial features.

Then without any warning, he let go and watched as the man's head fell back down. He stood up, grabbing the blood-covered blade he used to kill Kurono. He walked back to the chair, using the rough blade to cut the rope keeping Shinsou bound to the seat. He picked the unconscious man up, hooking his arms under the hostage's upper back and knees.

The rabbit-masked killer slowly walked to the door, bringing him out of the room. The two survivors made it back to the streets, where a van was waiting for them. The door opened, a group of people in white and blue hoodies welcoming them inside as the vehicle sped off, quickly leaving Kabukicho and Yakuza controlled territory.

* * *

A/N: I had to spend a lot of time restructuring and replanning this story, so I hope this chapter is to your liking! As always, I'd be more than happy to hear what you think about this story, and if you'd like to reach me outside of AO3, I'm always open for a chat on my Tumblr as well!


	3. Thy World Sundered

Shinsou could barely remember what had happened to him over the past few weeks. Everything was a hazy blur, only exacerbated by the drug-like haze that the Eight Precepts of Death had trapped him in while they held him captive. So much screaming, begging... there was even a time that they no longer needed Shin Nemoto's truth-telling quirk to extract the answers they wanted from him.

But that was a luxury that was still denied to him. Deidoro was just as ruthless, keeping him so inebriated that he constantly vomited, only releasing his quirk's hold when he felt like beating the purple haired vigilante. Even if they hadn't kept disabling his quirk with those vile bullets, he knew he didn't have the mental fortitude to attempt to hypnotize his captors.

He had given up. It was as if someone had flipped a kind of light switch in his head, dimming his thoughts until everything was replaced with a kind of stinging numbness. He couldn't be bothered to feel anything, no matter the number of times a balled fist pounded against his face. Eventually, he was dragged from his chair, carried to a van and carted off to a new location. But the change of environment did little to actually stimulate his mind.

He could tell Kurono was trying to tell him something, even showing off his old costume to impress him, but he couldn't process the words being told to him. There was no point in thinking, no reason to provide any reaction. This man wanted something of him, but the needle sticking into his thigh told him he would find no solace in this man.

An unfamiliar sensation suddenly forced its way into his head, burrowing through his thick skull like a power drill. Gunshots rang around his head, sparking his neurons back to life. His eyes slowly raised, watching as the right hand man of Overhaul frantically ran around the room, first to his security monitors and then to the door. He watched as the Yakuza boss launched his attack, leaving the room and shooting the paralyzed vigilante in the head. He felt his heart sink into his stomach, cursing himself for rousing himself back to consciousness.

Kurono was no longer paying attention to Shinsou, busy talking to his own superior. He was too busy trying to burn the recording of the vigilante onto a disc. But the purple haired man had a clear view of the hall and watched in silent astonishment as the man in green convulsed on the floor, before lifting himself back onto his feet. This strange being bent over, grabbing the Kodachi on the floor and tearing the blade free from its sheath. He slowly proceeded, pressing himself against the wall, the Yakuza boss none the wiser as he stared intently at the monitor.

Shinsou kept his mouth shut as he stared in awe, heart pounding furiously as he watched Kurono's impending doom slowly approach him. He found himself unable to blink as this vigilante launched his final attack, felling Kurono in a flash as he began to ruthlessly tear the man's neck into tatters. When the blood soaked murderer stood back up, their eyes met. Shinsou could only watch as the figure walked over, his eyes glassy as they almost stared through him.

A wave of relief rushed through Shinsou as the other man approached. The excitement of the last few moments took their toll on him, and he felt his vision grow dim.

"_Please_," he begged. " _Please... get me out of here... I'll do anything..._"

He felt his heart skip a beat as he realized his pleading was completely incoherent. He begged for release more fervently, but the only thing coming from his lips was incoherent wheezing. His head lolled to the side, his mouth hanging open as his consciousness faded away. The last thing he felt before everything went dark was something delicately grabbing his chin, lifting his head up as his eyelids fell.

He wasn't sure how long it was until his mind began to rouse itself again. Everything ached- nerves pounding against his muscle fibers as he felt a cool and soft fabric support his body from underneath. His slow approach to reality was immediately accelerated as he felt something rise up from his lungs, threatening to choke him.

Shinsou wheezed as he rolled to his side, hacking and hissing as clumps of dark, soft matter ejected themselves from his mouth, landing onto the silk sheets of the bed he realized he was in. His eyes shot open, pupils shrunk to tiny dots as he clutched at the pillow next to his head, body trembling wildly.

As the convulsions graciously subsided, he slowly propped himself up on one of his elbows, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark surroundings he was in. It was some kind of bedroom, walls completely devoid, not even the hint of furniture aside from the mattress he was on. There wasn't any kind of bed frame, it was just lying there on the floor. The way it creaked under him gave him suspicions that it wasn't that great of a cushion, but... well, it was certainly better than being strapped to a wooden chair.

He looked towards the end of the mattress; eyes drawn by a bright splash of color in the relative darkness. A fierce red blotch demanded his attention, and once his vision cleared completely, he recognized what it actually was- a pair of shoes, and a pair of legs sticking out of them. His eyes traced upwards, taking in the figure that had been looming next to him.

It was that person- the killer who dismantled the safehouse he had been locked inside. The blood on his outfit had long since dried up, turning from a deep red to a sickening black. Shinsou's body went into overdrive, adrenaline causing him to flail and scramble off the mattress, away from the figure that had been supposedly waiting for him to wake. The stench of gore hit his nose, the thick scent suffocating him as he opened his mouth to scream. His throat refused to obey him, a small wheeze escaping, his vocal cords too damaged to make a single noise.

This... this _thing_ stared down at him, his gaze looking almost blasé about the whole ordeal, as if even dealing with this was somehow beneath him.

Shinsou's muscles screamed at him as he got to his feet, stumbling backwards into the cheap wooden door poorly built into the wall. He clumsily slammed his hand down on the handle, causing it to swing out from behind him, causing him to slam into the ground on his behind. He winced in pain, pushing himself back further down the hall. Delirium had set in, and rather than looking for the closest exit, he dragged himself to the nearest door and quickly ran through, locking the handle behind him. He slumped himself against the door, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out where he was. He quickly realized it was a fairly cramped bathroom, with just barely enough room to move between the sink, toilet, and tub.

He blinked slowly, forcing his lungs to regulate his breathing as he tried to calm down. Eventually, he managed to regain his sense of logic as he tried to understand what was happening.

It didn't take him long to realize the mysterious figure didn't actually follow him- the blood soaked man just _stood_ there, watching motionlessly as he attempted to escape.

His ears perked up as the sound of heavy footsteps thudded out of the bedroom, down the hallway and past the bathroom door. There was the sound of a zipper, and the rustling of fabric. Then, there was nothing. The silence hung over the purple haired man like a weight on his shoulders. He could feel his eyelids twitch as he tried to formulate an escape plan with what little info he had-

His heart jumped as he heard someone knock on a distant door, closer to where the murderer had gone to. There was a metallic _clack_ of a deadbolt receding, followed by the creak of the door opening.

"There's our hero!" A cheerful, young voice proclaimed, their light footsteps padding against the wooden floor. "Let's take a look here... you got into some trouble, didn't you?"

There was no response.

"...I'll get you to talk to me one day." The young man grumbled, the sound of a zipper echoing down the hall.

Shinsou pressed his ear against the crack between the door and the ground, trying to listen more closely.

"And you're all bloody, too! Why haven't you washed up- _Oh._" The man cut himself off. "I see, your new guest must be occupying that place right about now. Right... go back to your old place, and clean all that blood off. I don't need you scaring the lights out of the other one, got it?"

The purple haired man furrowed his brow trying to understand the conversation. 'Other one?' Were they talking about him?

"Anyway," The other man continued. "Try not to let anyone see you. Hurry up now."

Shinsou heard the heavy footsteps march their way out of the room, fading quietly into the background. The door to the apartment closed, and soon he heard the sound of the lighter steps quickly going towards the bathroom door.

"Hello? Are you in there?" The voice called.

The purple haired vigilante backed up from the door, pressing himself against the wall behind him.

"I'll take those sounds as a 'yes.'" The man responded, a small sigh escaping. "Can you speak?"

He opened his mouth, but his vocal cords still refused to work. All that he could produce was a grating rasp.

"I see." The man replied. "Well, I'm sure you're confused about all this... but I hope you can appreciate being rescued. I was quite surprised when our Avatar carried you into the van... we weren't expecting him to save anyone."

Shinsou slammed his lips shut, unsure of how to process that information. His eyes snapped to the base of the door as he heard some sort of hard object get placed onto the ground on the other side.

"I know you're probably thinking about all kinds of ways to escape, but... please, don't." The voice calmly continued, the man's voice sounding genuinely concerned. "You were being tortured by the Yakuza, weren't you? I'm not going to ask why, but... I think we both know they'll be looking for you. At least wait for us to take care of them for you. I'd hate for him to go out of his way to rescue you, only for you to die in vain. Can you do that for me?"

The other man placed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and perturbed by the request of this mysterious man. He didn't bother to respond; they both knew he wouldn't be able to say anything quite yet.

"Okay, I'm going to leave now. I have a few things to take care of. I left you some supplies as well, both here and in the cabinets. There's a TV too, it came with the apartment... in case you'd like to catch up on the outside world..." He trailed off, as if trying to find anything else to say. "...Oh yeah! So we did a checkup on you... we've got a lot of doctors working with us... they said you'll do fine and don't have any serious treatment issues. But if anything does come up, please let us know, okay? I'm going to leave now. I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."

The man lingered on the other side of the door for a moment, before walking away. The sound of a door opening and closing let Shinsou know the man kept his word, hearing the sound of light footsteps slowly fade into nothingness.

The purple haired man's muscles groaned as he went back to the bathroom door, slowly unlocking the door and pushing it open.

On the other said lay a metal tray, containing a plate full of fresh steamed rice and a salmon steak. Next to it was a bottle of water, the cap opened and ready to drink from. He clutched at his stomach, using his free hand to clutch the tray and drag it towards him. He didn't bother with chopsticks- the Yakuza had starved him as long as they could, pumping his stomach with gruel to keep him from dying. He dug his hands into the food, ravenously consuming everything before him. He felt sick, but he couldn't stop himself from finishing the meal, downing the bottle of water soon afterwards. Everything tasted and smelled pleasantly sweet to him, but whether it was some side effect of the drugs he had forced into him or just because he hadn't had anything this clean in such a long time... he couldn't tell.

He was just glad to finally be free.

* * *

Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose, softly groaning as he tried to dissuade the piercing nerves in his head from screaming at him. It was like someone was pressing needles into the center of his forehead, threatening to crack his skull open as it dug deeper and deeper. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, producing a small bottle of extra strength acetaminophen he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, watching as a small handful of pills spilled onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.

The green haired barista quickly rushed from the storage room to the bathroom, planting both hands on the sink next to the entrance. He stared at himself in the mirror, leaning in close as if to examine the skin above his eyebrows. He traced his fingers along the singular aching dot, but it revealed nothing but the same skin he had seen every day of his life. He leaned back, practicing his smile in the mirror; his lips twitched intermittently, but it shouldn't be too noticeable. He would just have to be extra fast today to avoid letting anyone see his face for too long. As he left to return to his post, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling a small handful of pills spill onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.

He raced back to the front of the house, smiling wide as he greeted the small line of customers to Takamagahara. He raced to take down all their orders, moving over to the coffee machines to begin his work. He furrowed his brow, somewhat clumsily pouring the fine coffee grains into the portafilter, shoving it into the machine and watched as the espresso slowly dripped out of the pressurized chamber, a soft orange crema settling on the top of the tiny cup at the bottom of the machine. He quickly carried it over to its recipient, smiling brightly as he bowed and returned to the machine. He quietly pumped out a few lattes and cafe americanos, rushing between the machine and the ever growing line to service the new customers. He slid a tray of paper cups out onto the counter, calling the names of the people who ordered their respective drinks. The headache continued to intensify, making it harder and harder to concentrate on all the orders coming in, and it certainly didn't help that he was yet again alone on his shift. Not even his manager was able to come in today. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling a small handful of pills spill onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.

The line extended out the door, but thankfully it seemed that no more people were approaching the small shop. He briefly wondered if there was a sale at a neighboring grocery, or if there was an increase in traffic due to a holiday. Probably the latter, considering the number of incoming customers. His senses sharpened briefly, giving him enough time to nimbly fulfill all the incoming orders and clear the line down to just a handful of patrons. He glanced over at the calendar on the wall, and his eyes widened in realization as he saw the small text at the bottom of this week's itinerary-

All Might Day was in two days.

He closed his eyes for a moment, clenching them shut as he clenched his teeth. Just the mention of that name sent a wave of negative emotions washing over him. He grunted and clutched at his forehead, the pain in his head intensifying. He quickly served the last customer, bowing politely before rushing to the back of the house. He rushed into the locker room, panting heavily as he reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling-

Nothing. The bottle was empty.

His brows furrowed in confusion, his heart racing as he felt his hands tremble. He... how did he down the whole bottle of pills in the short time he had them? He felt the plastic container slip from his fingers, clattering to the ground as he stared a deathly gaze at the floor. He read the safety warning- no more than six pills in a day. There were at least thirty in that bottle. Izuku quickly pulled out his phone, freezing at the number pad as his thoughts raced in his head. Should he call 110? No, that was for accidents and crimes. Shouldn't swallowing a lot of pain medicine be an accident? What about 119, then? It's supposed to be for reporting fires or getting a rescue service... they send ambulances, but did he need one?

He shook his head, heart pounding through his ribcage as he shoved his near-incoherent debates from his mind. He settled on 119. If it wasn't the right one, they'd send him to the correct line.

He clumsily thumbed the numbers in, but his fingers froze as he hovered over the call button. His trembling hand refused to move any further, as if resisting the idea of contacting the authorities. He grunted in frustration, tossing the phone aside as he jumped back up. The world swayed beneath him, and he realized how badly he messed up. He stumbled through the locker room door, hand pressed against the wall as he teetered himself to the front. A haze settled over his thoughts, but the idea rang clear in his head- he could ask someone in the front for help! He pushed his way through the swinging doors...

And froze as the familiar countenance of Bakugou greeted him, sending an innate wave of terror through his body. He clutched at the frame, watching as the blonde passively glared back at him.

"It's about damn time someone showed up." He grunted, slamming a few yen banknotes onto the counter. "Americano. Now."

All other thoughts dissipated from Izuku's mind as he grimaced, silently bowing as he kept his hands tightly interlocked. He avoided looking anywhere else than the drip machine, producing a paper cup and shakily pouring the black liquid into the receptacle. He brought the cup and the glass container to the counter, eyes focused on the marble counter as he slid the cup to the pro hero. The blonde quickly picked it up in his gloved hands, taking a swig.

"Tastes good. But it took too fucking long. I'm on the clock here, you got it?"

Izuku flinched at the unprompted review. "Th-thank you... S-s-sorry, I'll d-do better."

Bakugou grunted, turning to leave. The barista picked up the glass pitcher, but in the drug-induced haze he felt it slip from his grasp. The near boiling liquid splashed all over his body, the searing liquid scaling his exposed skin. He screamed in pain as the glass container crashed into the ground, sending pointed shards across the floor. He fell back from the pain, his yell hiking in volume as he felt the shattered material sink into his legs and back.

His eyes opened wide, mouth hanging slightly as he scrambled to his feet, tears welling in his eyes from his lit nerves. The sound of heavy footsteps rushed up to him, pushing him back as he nearly failed to remain upright. He barely recognized the presence of Bakugou in front of him, glaring at him as he inspected the scene. He turned to face the barista, sauntering towards him and yanking his arm towards him. The hard-faced hero practically spun him around, looking up and down and assessing if there was any damage.

"Not even a bruise." He concluded, throwing Izuku's arm away in apparent disgust. "You're such a fucking crybaby."

"Wh-wha-"

"You're lucky you didn't get hurt." The hero reiterated, shaking his head. "Just... go lay down back or something. I don't give a shit. Don't come back out here until your head's on right."

The barista looked genuinely confused, eyes moving wildly between the hero and the mass of coffee and glass behind him. "B-but... I can't-"

"I'll clean up your stupid mess. Where's the cleaning supplies, twerp?"

Izuku shakily pointed to a small closet carved into the wall behind the counter. Bakugou grunted, pointing back towards the swinging doors. The green haired man didn't bother responding, dipping his head as he retreated to the back rooms. The hero grumbled angrily, sweeping up the broken glass before wiping down the floor, restoring the tile to its clean state. He dumped the items, cleaning equipment and all, into the trash can, before sauntering out the door and out into the streets.

The seating area remained deathly quiet, the patrons staring at each other with concerned gazes. They all looked around, and after confirming who everyone was inside the coffee shop, someone spoke up.

"...I'm surprised he didn't check up on the boy."

One of the patrons, dressed in a white hoodie with blue stripes, pulled at the corner of the hood draped around his head. His face was further obscured by a face mask, the thin blue fabric covering everything below the bridge of his nose.

"I'm more surprised he bothered to clean up at all. Ground Zero isn't the type of person to really... help out."

"Of course you'd know that." Someone else spat out, disdain clearly etched in their voice.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" The young man called back, fists clenched.

"Forget it. I'm not in the mood to argue with someone obsessed with what they can't have."

"Well, I'm not in the mood either. Let's just take care of this before it gets worse." He stood up, producing a syringe from his pocket. He removed the plastic cap covering the needle, watching as a few beads of liquid sprang from the hollow metal tube. "Is the van ready?"

Someone in the back corner raised their phone, showing off the text she just sent. "I let the driver know, the engine is warmed up and ready to go. What's the plan, Caretaker?"

"For now let's just bring him to his home and lay him to bed. Someone can clean up here after we're done." He muttered, covering his mouth with his clenched fist. He spent some amount of time quietly working a plan out loud, his words racing so fast that it was hard for anyone else to keep up. Eventually, he shook his head, announcing out loud. "I'm sure he'll think it was a bad dream. I'll talk with him later and see what he thinks."

Everyone nodded, getting up from their chairs and producing the same white and blue hoodie that the Caretaker wore. They all began to slowly approach the swinging doors where Izuku had retreated. One member of the group walked slowly to the door, flipping the wooden sign on the door from _Open_ to _Closed_. They all slowly filed into the back of the house, leaving the front completely empty, as if no one had ever been there.

* * *

_Machihan was hunched over a small desk, his large frame almost comically outsizing the place he chose to sit. On top of the wooden surface was an old sewing machine, powered by a set of pedals resting beneath his feet. He pressed down on the device with his combat boots, watching the needle spring to life, rapidly jittering up and down. The samurai-masked man glared intently at the soft, green, silken fabric he placed into the feed dog. _

_Yokumitsu was currently kneeling on the creaking bed, hands placed in his lap as he stared at the human sitting mirror to him on the other side of the bed. He was fully garbed in his armor, complete with his varsity jacket. His head was without a hood, his gaze was just as apathetic as usual, but with a sense of clarity that cut through the static haze and into the mirror-masked man. _

_Said owner tilted his head to the side, refocusing on Machihan._

_"I would have never guessed that you would have this sort of hobby." _

_The larger man seemingly brushed off the comments, his gaze unwaveringly focused on his task. _

_"The Sashimono had to be made somehow. I'm just applying these skills to something a bit more useful in this era." _

_"True, I suppose." The other man sighed, leaning back. "Though changing your warrior already... I thought you adored the fast-paced brutal battles the most. Why change that?" _

_Machihan's foot abruptly halted, stopping the machine in its tracks. He pulled out a pair of scissors, snipping the stitching from the loose thread. He flipped the material inside out, watching as the seams fell inwards. He raised his project up into the air, revealing it for what it was- a new mask for his warrior, devoid of the rabbit-like ears that adorned the head. Instead, the mouthpiece was replaced, this time with conical extrusions that resembled the chelicerae and jackknife fangs of a spider. _

_"It's not like he won't be using that mask again later. I'm giving him this one for now because it'll be more effective for his next battle, that's all." _

_"I see." Yokumitsu drawled, head swaying from side to side. "You're a lot easier to talk to when you get your way. You know that, right?" _

_The samurai-masked man rose from his chair, sauntering over to the avatar sitting stone-still on the bed. He pulled the mask over the young man's face, adjusting it slightly until the eye-holes aligned and the fangs practically jittered as he breathed. It was a truly terrifying sight. _

_"Perhaps, then," Machihan finished, stepping back to admire his handiwork, "You should make sure that I keep getting my way." _

* * *

Bakugou finished the last few drops of his coffee, grimacing annoyedly at the paper cup before haphazardly tossing it onto a trash pile burgeoning from a nearby alley. He glanced down at his phone screen, tongue clicking as he tried to get to the address Tsukauchi told him to arrive at. The sun was just starting to set, and it wasn't before long that the Kabukicho lights flickered to life, casting their neon glow across the streets.

Eventually, he made it to the spot; it was a featureless building just on the edge of the district, a relatively stout building perched between a few hotels and mixed apartment buildings. The detective, harsh-eyed as ever, bored holes through the pro hero, watching him intently as he greeted the police member. Tsukauchi stepped forward, fishing a bottle of peppermint oil from his trench coat pocket and flinging it in the other man's direction. The blonde snapped his arm up to pluck it from the air, holding it tightly between his fingers as his superior began to speak.

"We were tipped off about this place- supposedly a Yakuza hideout that went dark last night." He explained, tapping the tip of his boot against the concrete. "I took a quick look-see of the inside... I think it's best you keep the bottle this time."

The hero opened his mouth to retort, but his experience last time kept him from being snide. The things he saw last time were bad enough, and it was mostly cleaned up by the time he got there.

"Fine." He grunted, thumb rubbing the top of the glass bottle. "So we're just going to walk into a Yakuza home, then?"

"That's exactly what we're going to do." The detective emphasized.

"This ain't gonna be okay with them." The blonde pushed back, balled fists slowly tightening. "Should I be prepping for a fight?"

Tsukauchi shook his head. "No. They're not going to interfere."

"And how do you know that?!"

"Because I'm almost completely certain they're the ones who tipped us off." The detective calmly asserted, producing a notepad to scribble a few notes down.

"Why would they-"

"Think about it for a second, _Ground Zero_." Tsukauchi almost condescendingly replied, shaking his head in exasperation. "Two places run by the same faction were hit. They're scrambling to figure out if there's going to be a third... or even more, for that matter. If they were investigating the scene themselves, there would be a good chance the attacker would return to wreak havoc. Pulling in someone else means they're safer."

"And what do they get out of that?" Bakugou insisted, grabbing the detective's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "They're not going to be happy with letting you handle the whole thing."

"I'm assuming... if this place isn't already bugged, there's probably someone who will leak our info to them. But it's either that or turn down the chance to find the killer. I'd rather take my chances."

Tsukauchi tried to move, but Bakugou's iron grip held him in place.

"...All Might would never stoop to this level."

The detective yanked his shoulder back, tearing it free from the hero's grip.

"You're right. He wouldn't." He pushed down on the door handle, turning to face the hero as he motioned for him to enter. "He'd make a terrible detective."

Bakugou walked to the entrance, stopping in the doorway as he turned to glare at his superior. He gritted his teeth, hissing out, "So great detectives kowtow to the fucking Yakuza, is that it?"

Tsukauchi returned the gaze with one just as intense. "Believe it or not, my job isn't to debate you every time we meet. If we don't do this, then we're leaving everything in their hands and we won't be able to bring anyone to justice. I'd rather try to get two steps ahead then voluntarily give them ten. Now. Get. Inside."

The blonde hero huffed, stepping into the dimly lit foyer of the building. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the change of light, prompting him to step further into the darkness to speed the process up. As soon as he did, it was as if he walked into a wall of vile stench. He reared back, gagging as he covered his nose. He opened his mouth to breathe, but he quickly realized the horrendous smell of rot and decay was strong enough to taste in the air.

The detective stepped through the doorway, feeling for a light switch on the wall nearby. He found a row of them, and he reached out with his forearm to flip them all up at once. Almost immediately, the source of the decrepit scent was made evident-

Across this fairly lavish foyer were littered at least eight corpses, languidly strewn where they had died. The walls were dotted with pristine weapon stands, containing ceremonial blades, broken up by a series of Ukiyo-e prints that depicted various commoners of feudal japan going about their days. All of it was coated in a fine mist of blood, viscous black-red streaks flung across the wall. There was a staircase leading up, with two bodies sprawled across its steps, arms and legs bent horribly out of shape, heads caved in. On the upper floor was a man in a white suit, his body folded over the wooden railing of the outcrop. Close to his body was large chunks of wood from what looked to be a bat- the rest of it was jammed into his back, directly where his spinal cord was.

Bakugou covered his mouth, turning as he fought the urge to hurl. His eyes were as wide as saucers, eyelids twitching as he shook uncontrollably.

Tsukauchi seemed unfazed by the carnage, stepping around a body next to the entrance as he approached the hero. He reached into his pockets, holding out a small piece of fabric with some elastic strands on the end.

"Face mask. Douse some of the oil with this." He commanded, waiting for the blonde to follow his orders.

The younger man, too unsettled to fight, weakly grabbed the item with his free hand, doing exactly what he was told. The moment he put it on, the strong scent of the oil wiped his sense of smell clean, restoring a little bit of stability to his stomach. He turned back to face the carnage, but he found himself at a loss for words.

"You've never done a lot of support hero work, have you?"

Bakugou slowly shook his head, eyes trained on the rudimentary wooden stake pointing out of the dead man's back.

"I figured as much. A lot of them see things like this at disaster sites. Yuuei likes to sugarcoat it, but they'll have to deal with this kind of scene if you don't try to minimize damage when you fight a villain." He sighed, shaking his head. He produced another pair of shoe covers, dropping them at the hero's feet while he put on his own pair. "Let's go. Techs are going to arrive in a few minutes to clear this place out."

The blonde followed Tsukauchi's motions, following him as he walked up the stairs. He took more care than usual not to step on the bodies. He paused for a second, frozen in time as he stared at one of the Yakuza goon's face. It was contorted into an expression of fear, almost pleading for mercy. His nose was smashed in, teeth were missing and there was a huge dent at the top of his head.

"Come on!" The detective called out from the top of the staircase, snapping Bakugou back to reality. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he huffed and sprinted his way up, trying to get the images out of his head.

He followed in tow as Tsukauchi methodically checked each of the winding halls and rooms of the small complex, writing down notes and taking pictures as he saw fit. What glimpses Bakugou could get from the notepad detailed causes of death as well as notes regarding the building layout- he guessed the detective was trying to make a timeline to explain when and how the killer went through the building.

"Was it really just one person?" Bakugou wondered aloud, shaking his head. "They're either really fucking strong, or really fucking crazy."

"Or both." The detective added, standing back up after taking detailed notes on a corpse with its head smashed between a door and its frame. He looked up, noticing a dome-shaped security camera staring at him from the far corner of the room. "This place is completely covered with cameras... if they're stored locally, we may be able to get a glimpse at our killer."

"They gotta be scared shitless." The hero mumbled, rubbing the facemask fabric over the tip of his nose. "No wonder they're looking to get you involved."

Tsukauchi exited the room, not providing any sort of verbal response. They walked down the hallway and into the last wing of the building- a small antechamber, followed by a long hallway and a reinforced door that was still flung open. There were two bodies here, an empty sheath thrown clumsily against its stand. The actual weapon was nowhere to be seen.

The detective took some brief notes, before dutifully marching down the hall and into the final room of the building. The interior was just as lavish as the halls, a grand bed taking up much of the floor space. In the alcove on the wall was an old costume for Chronostasis. There was a computer desk in one corner, and a very uncomfortable looking chair on the opposite side.

"It's been a while since I've seen that outfit..." He trailed off, eyes slowly lowering as he saw the decapitated head of Overhaul's right hand man. His mouth hung open in shock, his previous thought grinding to a halt and dying in his throat.

"What the fuck?!" Bakugou cried out as he saw the body of the Yakuza. He clutched the frame of the door, fingers clenched so tightly that he could almost see the whites of his knuckles through the opaque gloves. "That's... who in their right fucking mind..."

"We can ask them when we arrest them." Tsukauchi shook his head, turning to the empty chair. "I'm guessing there was a hostage... but who..."

He turned back to the computer, pressing the power button on the device. He watched it spring to life, and while the operating system loaded, he took his time to search through the drawers of the desk to no avail. His eyes settled on an untitled disc in a paper sleeve next to his desk. Without any further hesitations, he pulled the disc from its container, sliding it into the computer in front of him. The screens in front of him sprang to life, each displaying their own feed of the computer system. Tsukauchi pulled out his notepad once more, furiously writing down notes on every action taken by the costumed vigilante. The recording ended with the man getting shot in the head by Kurono, only to rise up from the floor and rush into Kurono's bedroom.

"Some sort of regeneration quirk... not a lot of people who would be able to do that kind of thing. If that's the case... we've blown this thing wide open." He leaned in, eyes sternly trained on the images in front of him. "Such a strange outfit, too. Ears shaped like a rabbit's... reminds me of Miruko. And the jacket, too... What do you think, Bakugou?"

He turned around to ask the hero, but instead he was taken aback by the look of pure horror on the blonde's face. He was trembling wildly, his own pupils jittering back and forth as he saw the recordings on screen loop, showing murder after murder, over and over again.

"No... fuck... no... You gotta be shitting me!" He grunted out, pointing at the screen. "I... I fucking saw him while I was walking around the other night!"

Tsukauchi's face lost its color as he said that. His dark eyes grew wide, before he immediately shot up. He ripped the CD out of the computer, before sauntering over to Bakugou, clutching his hand tightly, yanking him out of the room and down the hall.

"What the-" He cried out in weak protest. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

"Back to the office." He grunted, his pace growing ever more insistent. "We'll come back later, right now I need you to write down _every single thing_ that happened last night, got it?"

* * *

Shigaraki threw open the heavy sliding door to an abandoned oceanside warehouse, cringing as the smell of old, rotted fish washed over his face. This place hadn't seen legitimate use in years, which made it a sort of ideal meeting place for those who wanted to talk off the records. It just so happened that the leader of the League of Villains was cordially invited to one such conference.

The inside of the warehouse looked just as rusted and decrepit as its outside. Puddles of stagnant water lined the walls, brought on from holes in the roof that were never quite patched up. Chains hung loose from metal cogs dispersed in a grid like pattern, a conveyor belt running down the whole facility. It looked to be some kind of cannery in its heyday.

The blue haired villain looked around quickly, raising two fingers to signal the rest of his group. Out of the shadows came four more people, all of them immediately recognizable from news broadcasts and wanted posters- a heavily scarred man who looked completely uninterested and aloof, a rather giddy blonde woman who constantly thumbed the pommel of the knife in her hands, a large, burly woman who carried a gigantic magnet on her back, and a man dressed in a yellow overcoat, carrying a cane while a white and black mask covered his face.

None of them said a word as they entered the warehouse, purposefully stepping into the darkness as they approached a stairwell at the back of the building. They ascended the steps, watching as the stairs morphed into a long metal catwalk that lined the entire wall of the cannery, only divided by a single rusty bridge that crossed the halfway point of the production floor.

They walked to the edge of the crossing, stopping as a lone figure stepped from the midnight shadows, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the edges of his pristine beak mask through the holes in the roof.

"I was expecting you to come alone." Overhaul noted, tapping his gloved finger quietly against the rusted railing of the catwalk.

"You didn't say this was a solo mission." Shigaraki hissed, unfazed by the comment.

"No matter." The head of the Yakuza relented, shaking his head in disappointment. "I've come to ask regarding a possible recruit of yours. It appears as though someone is repeatedly violating our territorial agreement."

"Oh?" The villain mastermind tilted his head, expression unreadable due to the prosthetic hand covering his face. "That's a bold claim. You have any proof."

The Yakuza pulled a small package from his jacket, tossing it across the bridge. It slid across the rusted surface, tumbling to a stop at the blue haired man's feet. He picked it up, pinky carefully held out so as to not destroy the contents inside. It resembled a small, thick envelope, and pulling open the tab at the top showed what was inside- a number of photos taken from Kurono's security feed, capturing some of the most gruesome moments of the vigilante slaughtering everyone else.

Toga seemed to almost cheer in joy, grabbing a handful of the photos out of her leader's hands. "Oh my gosh, these are so great! So bloody and gruesome and- not even Stain is this brutal! Where did you get these?!"

"One of my contacts in the police force sent me these." Overhaul noted, his stern gaze unwavering. "Word is that the officers are calling him ' _Jackrabbit_' because of his outfit."

"A rabbit wearing a jacket..." Mr. Compress trailed off, before sighing. "Goodness me, that's quite an uncreative name. But I guess it'll do."

"I don't care what he's called, I want you to deal with him." The Yakuza rebutted, a slight hint of anger rising in his voice. "He's already killed my second in command, that alone should warrant a summary execution-"

"No, it doesn't." Shigaraki cut him off, reaching up to dig his fingernails into the skin of his neck. "Sorry to tell you, but we won't be doing anything."

The disciplined gaze of Chisaki's cold, golden eyes darkened even further. He sauntered forward, rubbing the tips of his glove with his other hand, as if planning to attack.

"You understand what this means, don't you? You're violating our agreement. You may have your own slice of the land but don't forget who is really the one in power here-"

The head of the League of Villains sighed in annoyance, shaking his head. "Don't try to aggro me, there's no-"

He was cut off by the sound of something incredibly large impacting the ground next to him. He turned to see that Magne had fully unwrapped her magnet, pointing its north pole directly at the approaching Yakuza. She grinned as the man seemingly lost his balance, stumbling forward as he was yanked into the air, flying towards her weapon of choice. His head crunched against the polarized metal, his legs kneeled back as he was unable to find purchase.

"Sorry pal, but I'm sick of having to deal with you. And you came alone? How stupid could you be?!"

Her question went unanswered as she watched Overhaul's hand slam onto the side of the magnet. It exploded into a torrent of shrapnel, rushing down the shaft and embedding a number of metal shards into her stomach. She grunted as she stumbled backwards, clutching her bloodied abdomen.

The red-headed villain looked up to see the Yakuza's bare head reaching out towards her face, only for the hand to retract as a pair of razor sharp daggers rushed through the air where his arm was. It gave her enough time to pull back, putting some much needed distance between her and the head of the Eight Precepts of death.

Shigaraki seemed oddly quiet during the entire fight, only moving to make space when Chisaki rushed past him to attack his subordinate. A jet of blue fire spewed over his shoulder, hair waving about in the heat of Dabi's attack that forced the Yakuza to retreat further.

"I can't believe you're trying to fight when you're this disadvantaged." Dabi coolly remarked, hands outstretched as he intensified his geysers of flame. "You don't actually expect to beat us all, do you?"

Overhaul retreated back to the halfway point of the bridge, gloved hand clutching the rusty rail as he reached behind his back.

"Of course not. I've made it clear that the existence of the League benefits me. You take care of the areas and the rabble that aren't worth my time." His glower intensified. "But wanting your continued presence doesn't mean you can't be disciplined-"

The head of the Yakuza swung his arm around, producing a wide barreled pistol of a quirk suppressing gun. He pulled the trigger, watching as it sailed through the flames, hitting its mark square on Dabi's shoulder. Almost immediately, the jets of fire stopped, flickering out just as quickly as they were produced. Overhaul slammed his open palm on the railing, watching as it began to ripple and splinter. The decomposition traveled down the metal rod, ending just in front of the group of villains opposed to him.

The length of metal didn't explode this time, however. Instead, it floated in the air, coalescing and reforming into the shape of a heavy linked chain. He whipped his hand around, watching a wave of force travel up the still forming links, eventually lashing out and wrapping itself cleanly around the scarred man's neck, where it fused together and formed a heavy kind of leash.

Mr. Compress tried to reach out to use his quirk to break the links but was too late. A surprisingly powerful tug from the sole Yakuza present sent Dabi stumbling forward, out of his reach. Before anyone else could react, Overhaul gripped the chain even tighter, activating his quirk again.

The links of metal began to change again, their glossy surface cracking as sharp spikes erupted outwards, expanding at least an inch off each ring of the chain. The League could only watch as this change raced down from end to end, almost instantly reaching the scarred man's neck. His back straightened as the pointed ends cleanly sunk into his throat, blood spurting down his body as he feebly reached for the deadly collar under his chin.

A second yank from Overhaul caused a wave of blood to rush from his mouth. He opened his mouth, gurgling something incoherent as he fell over, tumbling off the side of the catwalk. He fell headfirst onto the concrete, his skull cracking open and splattering bits of organic matter all over the ground. The wounds in his neck continued to empty his veins and arteries, the blood slowly accumulating and pooling around his already disfigured body.

The Yakuza boss shivered in disgust, huffing as hives began to well up on his face. He quickly replaced his glove, his gaze returning to the remaining League villains.

"I hope you've learned your lesson. The more people I have to remove from your little group, the less useful you are for me."

Both Mr. Compress and Magne were taken aback in absolute shock at the sudden death. Shigaraki was just as unreadable as before, his hair and prosthetic hand making any emotional read impossible. Toga's look of abject horror morphed into a glower of rage, as she pulled a pair of knives from a sheathe on her waist.

"You piece of-" she grunted, sauntering forward. "You didn't have to do that! I'll make you pay-"

Her anger was quickly cut off as their leader outstretched his hand, pushing her back. A look of genuine confusion and bewilderment crossed her face as she opened her mouth to protest.

"I've had enough of this fight" Shigaraki hissed, shaking his head. "We don't have anyone like this 'Jackrabbit' working for us. If you waited long enough for me to say that, we could have avoided this senseless encounter."

"I'm not the one who lashed out." Overhaul grabbed his mask with both hands, pressing the air filtration device further into his skin.

"You're right, we did." He waved his hand down at Dabi's broken corpse. "And clearly we paid a fine for that. Unless you have any kind of side quest for us, anything further will just be a waste of time."

"No." He shook his head, the intensity of his hives only worsening. "Just leave."

Shigaraki pushed past his own comrades, descending the stairs as they silently followed. Rather than cross the factory floor again, the villains used an emergency exit that led them back out onto the empty streets of the warehouse district. As the door closed behind them, Magne immediately spoke up.

"Boss... I-"

"_Don't._" He hissed, cutting his subordinate off. "I don't want to hear it right now."

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Toga yelled, pointing her blades at their leader. "You're just going to let him get away with that?! He _killed_ Dabi!"

Shigaraki's silence only enraged her further. It was only thanks to Mr. Compress that she didn't attack him there and then. The older villain calmly placed a hand on her shoulder, redirecting her attention towards him.

"My dear Toga... it's not fair, but I think under the same circumstances I would have done the same as him."

"Wha-"

He kneeled down slightly, looking her straight in the eye. "Overhaul may be grandiose but what he says carries a certain truth to it- we _aren't_ the ones in power here. Even if we killed him, we would likely be fighting off his avengers for a very long time."

The blonde girl's expression fell, hands falling limply to her side. Her mouth contorted into a sorrowful frown, knowing that what she was told was the truth she had always known.

"That_ is_ why you didn't raise a hand to help us, right? Leader?" Mr. Compress took up, turning to face Shigaraki with an accusatory tone.

The head of the League of Villains reached up, grabbing the prosthetic hand covering his face. He slowly took it off, revealing a glare of deep-seated rage that had outmatched everyone else's emotional outbursts. The sight of it alone made them feel as if an extra weight had just been slammed on their shoulders.

"That bastard took our freedom from us... and when he gets attacked, he takes it out on us." He hissed, scratching his neck so hard that entire chunks of skin began to fall off his dry, cracked neck. "I'm going to break every bone in his body and feed him to a pack of rabid dogs."

The other three League members were stunned into silence, watching him with wide eyes as he continued. He pulled out the photos Overhaul had given him, the pieces of paper crinkling in his hands as he clutched them with an iron grip.

"We're going to find out who this 'Jackrabbit' is." He announced his decision. "I don't know who this freak is, but if they can take out entire bases without any party members... Let's see if we can't give them a little helping hand."

* * *

The moment the door closed behind the League members, Overhaul hunched over, digging deeply into his coat pockets as he produced a large bottle of hand sanitizer. He tore off his gloves and mask, pouring a large mound of the viscous fluid onto his hands. The germophobic Yakuza deliriously slathered his face in the liquid, feeling the familiar sensation of his nose and eyes burning as the disinfectant seeped into every orifice on his face. He resisted the urge to directly drink from the bottle, knowing it would only do more harm than good.

He continued his disturbing cleansing ritual, until eventually his heart calmed down to the point that he regained his senses and put back on his gloves and mask. The vapors of the sanitizer burned his lungs, but as long as it was clean, he didn't care.

"Insolent fools." He grunted, leaning back against the rail he didn't destroy. "Debasing me to have to _touch_ them."

He was drawn away from his spite by the sound of his phone chirping in his pocket. He quickly pulled the cheap clamshell device out, flipping the lid open and watching as the screen flickered to life. The small screen simply read "_Rappa_." He quickly pressed the answer call button, placing the device to his ear.

"What is it-"

"Boss!" The man's gravelly voice shouted through the earpiece. "I just got to the storehouse in Ikebukuro- I think someone is raiding the place!"

Overhaul's eyes widened as he felt his grip on his phone loosen. He felt a tremble build up in his chest, a kind of fear he'd never experienced before.

"...Do you know who it is?"

"Not a clue, but I'm about to find out. I've got you on Bluetooth so I can keep you informed." There was a pause, followed by a whistle of surprise. "Woah... whoever this is, they're not taking any prisoners, that's for sure. This place is a mess."

The Yakuza boss' breath hitched, the air seemingly unable to reach his lungs as a nervous panic set in.

"...Boss, you there?"

Overhaul snapped himself out of his daze, shaking his head vigorously. "...Yes, I'm here. Rappa... I'm ordering you- do _not_ hold back when you find him. Don't play around with him. Understand?"

"Oh come on, I can't have a little fun?"

"_Rappa_-"

"Okay, I got it! Are you riled up over something-" The man on the other end of the phone was cut off, replaced with the sounds of scuffling and a loud screech of pain.

"Rappa, report-"

"_I can't see! I CAN'T SEE!_" The man screamed back, followed by the sounds of wood and metal crashing and breaking.

Chisaki could only listen in abject horror as the sounds of conflict abruptly ended, replaced only by a loud _thud_. Light footsteps padded the floor, slowly fading into obscurity.

There was only silence for the next few minutes. The head of the Eight Precepts considered calling out to Rappa once more, but... he knew there would be no answer. He slowly lowered the phone, feeling his heart pound out of his chest as he slammed it shut.

"This..." He trailed off, watching his fingers tremble. "This can't be happening..."

* * *

A/N: Clearly something is wrong here, I made an update and it's been less 3 months since the last one.

I'm excited to show you all where this story goes, I've had most of this planned out in my head but I'm starting to incorporate some more elements into the story which I think you're going to love. Don't forget to leave a comment telling me your thoughts! I'm going to make an effort to start responding to my comment backlog, I really enjoyed actually engaging with everyone and I hope we can keep these discussions ongoing in this project. As always, feel free to talk with me on Tumblr or Twitter, I love hearing what everyone has to say! Have a great day!


	4. Thy Sight Splintered

Ikebukuro was a massive shopping center in Tokyo, catering to tourists and locals alike. The diverse array of goods for sale appealed to all, and thus it made perfect sense for the Yakuza to have a foothold in the area, billowing their finances by selling cheap goods that conveniently laundered their dirty money. While the mantle of kingpin had changed rapidly over the past few decades, one thing had always remained clear- there must always be a Yakuza who reigns over the district.

Like most areas of Tokyo, that group was The Eight Precepts of Death.

With their monopoly on quirk enhancing and inhibiting drugs, Overhaul's organization flourished and experienced an unnaturally long streak of dominance. The advent of superpowers meant power exchanged rapidly from one mob to the next, but what used to be a yearly power struggle had long stagnated into an uneasy rule that had lasted well over a decade, with no end in sight.

Throughout the shopping district, the group had set up numerous storehouses lodged quietly in the meticulously renovated high-rises that sprawled across the streets, some containing little more than cheap memorabilia, to illegal contraband that was rarely used outside of a military battle.

Not too far from the Sunshine 60 building itself was one of these stockpiles, the inventory mostly consisting of crates full of stuffed animals meant for an underground mall. Despite the seemingly innocuous cargo, the floor was regularly patrolled by a small handful of guards, toting handguns in their tightly clenched palms as they periodically checked each point of entry.

The atmosphere was tense, and a deep sense of existential dread was etched into each of the guards' features. The events that had taken place over the last few nights were not lost on them. The fact that they were armed at all had placed a dense pit in their stomachs; up until last night, they weren't considered essential enough to carry one. Now, the leadership began giving them out like discount chocolates after Valentine's.

One such guard rubbed his jaw, his teeth clenched for so long that it had begun to ache. He stiltedly trudged between the stacks of pallets, the warm humid air stifling his lungs. He tried to breathe calmly but his muscles barely obeyed him, with ragged quiet gasps escaping as he drew air through his nostrils.

_Cha-clink._

The sound of something metallic sliding around perked one of the guard's ears as he felt his heart jump in his chest. His grip tightened against the plastic and metal grip on the gun, ridged sides digging into his calloused palms. He lowered his stance, quietly moving to the source of the noise, behind a row of crates not far from him.

As he turned the corner, his eyes widened in surprise at the scene before him- a snakelike woman, wearing the same unofficial uniform as him, had practically ripped the shackle of a crate's lock from its latch, the discarded metal casually thrown to the floor. She seemed otherwise occupied, her neck craned over the edge of the container, peering at the contents within.

The other guard raised his weapon, ready to cock the hammer-

Before he could even blink, the woman spun around, quietly racing along the ground and closing the distance between them. One of her hands gripped his mouth, clamping it shut; the other tore the gun out of his hands, the force so strong he could feel the bones in his fingers creak. Had he held onto it any tighter, he didn't doubt they would have been ripped from his body in a similar fashion.

"Now, now." She cooed, holstering the gun inside the brim of her slacks. "Let's not get carried away, shall we?"

She used her free hand to firmly grasp his shoulder, pulling him along as she slowly moved back towards the crate she busted into. Once they were right in front of it, the woman slowly spun around, hooking her arm over his shoulder as she forced him to lean over the edge of the metal-enforced container. Inside were a number of strange eclectic items- gold stars, symbols of victory, various kanji, even some popular anime idols and characters- all encased in plastic. There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason with these tokens, but nevertheless the plastic shell they were locked inside of were undeniably the same.

"A-are these..." His eyes widened, hands leaning forward to peer deeper into the container. "Are these pachinko tokens? I didn't know we got back into those..."

"It's a shock to me too." The snakely woman replied, grip loosening once she was sure the other man was no longer hostile. "But that's not the reason I took a peek. Something smells off about this one."

The man squinted his eyes, trying to decipher some level of detail through the stacks of tokens. His eyes widened as he realized something _else_ was inside this container, a black box nestled neatly in the center of the stacks and stacks of plastic items.

Without any sort of encouragement, his curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself slowly displacing the other contents, setting them quietly aside as he cleared a path to the center of the crate. It was heavy, made of some sort of hard material- it felt like ceramic. He fished it out, taking a small step back as he set it on the ground in front of him. He turned his head to look at his newly acquainted partner-in-crime; she was a few steps back, smiling encouragingly at him with her arms folded over her chest. She arched her eyebrows, nodding slightly.

The man brushed his fingers along the smooth, night black material of this strange container. He traced his hands down to the latch on the front, slowly pulling it back and freeing the lid from the rest of the chassis. He slowly swung the top on its hinge, revealing the contents within.

Inside was a set of syringes, twenty-five of them arranged neatly in a square rack. A wispy mist spilled over the rim and out onto the ground, the result of some dry ice nestled at the bottom, in an attempt to preserve the contents as long as possible.

He slowly reached in grabbing one of the injectors. It was as long as his clenched fist, the body itself bright red with a button at the top. A thin needle menacingly shined at the bottom, the glimpses of light reflecting off the metal and onto his eyes.

"They're... this is... Trigger?!" His eyes widened as he noticed something else in the container, previously obscured by the icy vapors- a radio transmitter, with its activation switch tied to the lid. Its light was blinking rapidly. "Oh shit-"

His revelation was cut short by the sound of a loud _thud_ behind him. His already racing heart skipped a beat as he twisted his waist at an awkward angle to see what was behind him.

He saw his snakely partner on the ground, hands weakly grasping at the arms of a strange, green-suited man who was crouching on top of her, red shoes digging into her stomach as he leaned in. He couldn't tell what was happening; only the sound of light gasps and gurgling as he watched her slowly cease to move. Her body twitched violently as the assailant tore his hands back, revealing two blood-soaked knives that scattered a thin mist along the ground.

The guard dropped the syringe in shock, words completely escaping him as he felt his body feverishly jolt to action. He practically threw himself to his feet, eyes frantically searching for the quickest path to safety.

His efforts were in vain, however, as the other man was far faster than he. Without missing a beat, he spun on the heels of his feet, leaping off his last victim like a springboard. The guard watched as the attacker shifted his body in the air, wrapping his legs around the man's waist as the momentum sent them crashing to the ground.

The Yakuza watched his vision split into two as his skull crashed into the metal crate with a sickening _thwack_, his hair dragging along the surface of its wall as he slumped to the ground. He watched the killer silently raise his hands, daggers glinting menacingly as he brought them down, sinking them cleanly into the guard's throat.

He didn't have the ability to scream or move, even crying felt beyond his reach. He could only ruminate on the choices he made, feeling his brain fill with regrets as quickly as his lungs filled with blood. It wasn't long before the life faded from his eyes, permanently etching his sorrow-filled expression onto his face.

It wasn't long before a response came from the transmitter- by design, one of the Eight Bullets was within close proximity of their Trigger shipments, ready to bust in if a drop went awry. It was at this time that Rappa was the one on call for the supply in Ikebukuro- he wasted no time answering the distress beacon.

The cargo elevator just outside the storehouse opened, revealing the countenance of the muscular Bullet of the Precepts. He pulled a small earpiece from his pocket, switching it on as he pulled down the brim of his mask just far enough to put on the phone accessory. He flipped open his phone, calling the first number on his speed dial, his boss.

"Boss!" He shouted into the mic. "I just got to the storehouse in Ikebukuro- I think someone is raiding the place!"

_"...Do you know who it is?"_

"Not a clue, but I'm about to find out. I've got you on Bluetooth so I can keep you informed." He paused, walking down the hall to face the door to the storehouse. He lifted a foot to kick it in but paused for a moment. The door was slightly ajar, with only silence spilling in from the other side. He put his leg back down, opting to slowly push the door open instead.

His eyes widened at the absolute massacre inside. Every single person was lying on their backs, eyes wide as they clutched their necks, blood drained from their bodies and pooled around their fresh corpses.

It took him a second to respond at the sight. "Woah... whoever this is, they're not taking any prisoners, that's for sure. This place is a mess."

There was no response from the other end of the line. Rappa felt a sense of unease wash over his body as he tried to understand what had happened... many of these people were in small groups, all of which had their guns either holstered or deposited somewhere near their bodies... There was barely a sign of the assailant at all, not even any kind of footsteps, like they didn't even touch the ground-

"...Boss, you there?" He abruptly grunted into the line, fists clenching tightly at his waist.

_"...Y-Yes, I'm here. Rappa... I'm ordering you- do not hold back when you find him. Don't play around with him. Understand?" _

"Oh come on," He rubbed the back of his head, chuckling as he tried to diffuse the dread seeping into his chest. "Can't I have a little fun?"

_"Rappa-"_

"Okay, I got it!" He snapped back, nervousness getting the best of him. "Are you that riled up over something-"

He cut himself off, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He spun around to see a much thinner creature rush him, back bent low with his arms pulled tight to his chest. He didn't have the time to wind his punch up, opting to twist his hips in a roundhouse kick. The assailant in green brought his arms up as a shield, catching the kick full-on as the force of the impact caused him to slide to the side. He remained standing, quickly retaliating by thrusting his hands out in an attempt to impale the Yakuza with his knives. Rappa used his momentum to spin backwards, a grunt escaping his lips as the edges of the blades nicking his abdomen, drawing just the slightest bit of blood.

The much larger man slid his foot behind him to steady himself, crouching to the ground just before he leapt forward. He revved his shoulder up, spinning his whole arm in rapid circles as he splayed his palm, attempting to grab the attacker by the head and slam him into the ground.

Just before the blow hit its mark, this murderous vigilante swung his own arm around, deftly sidestepping the swing like a matador taunting a bull. He spun his knives in his palm, pointing them downwards as he slammed the blade into the back of his hand, driving the knife cleanly through. Not satisfied with that, he used the hilt as a vaulting point, leaping over the hand while pressing the knife deeper into Rappa's impaled palm. With his free hand, he slashed his hand in a horizontal arc, tracing the sharp weapon across the chiseled muscles of the Yakuza's abdomen, cutting through the layers of skin, down to the muscle. With the last of his momentum, the assailant slammed his foot on the injured man's wrist, creating enough downward force to wrench the blade out of Rappa's appendage.

The quick succession of attacks resulted in the burly Yakuza stumbling back, a screech echoing throughout the storeroom's aisles. He clutched his hand, vision quickly clearing as he felt rage consume his form. This bastard would _pay_...

A familiar sense of dread bubbled up on his tongue as he looked around for the vigilante. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. He felt his heart race, blood dripping from his wounds at an increased rate as he spun around, revving his shoulders up as he looked for the place this coward would come running from.

A soft noise caught his ears, his breath hitching as he heard a metallic _clangclangclang_ quickly approach the spot above his head. His neck snapped upwards, watching as the lithe figure jumped off the metal struts on the ceiling of the renovated space, arms stretched high above him as he sailed feet first towards the much larger man.

Rappa felt the pair of shoes find purchase on his shoulders and could only watch as the knives slowly grew closer until they engulfed his entire vision. He heard the crack of the glass eye-shields on his mask, only to be followed by searing pain as his world went dark. He screeched in agony, reaching in vain for an assailant that had already leapt away.

_"Rappa, report-"_

"I can't see! _I CAN'T SEE!_" He howled back, revving his shoulders up wildly as he struck everything in his vicinity, desperately hoping to clock the assailant as he swung his fists without restraint.

Jackrabbit stood at a distance, looking completely disinterested as he watched the hysterical fighter try to attack someone who wasn't there. He patiently waited a few moments, looking for a prime opportunity to land the final blow.

When it finally arrived, he didn't waste its presence. He rushed forward, arching his back into a low sprint as he timed his attack between the almost random series of hooks and haymakers. He jumped up, arching his knees upwards as he extended his legs as far out as he could into a dropkick aimed right at the Yakuza lieutenant's face...

The attack connected without fail, with the costumed intruder's feet crashing into the hilts of the dagger's still embedded into the larger man's skull. Both of them could feel his skull's ocular cavities fracture and crack, the force allowing the blades to break through and pierce the soft brain matter within. Almost immediately, Rappa ceased to move, body dropping to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings.

Jackrabbit quietly pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his spider mask slightly. He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring down at the still body of the bulky warrior now sprawled on his side on the floor. The assassin placed his foot on the corpse's shoulder, roughly kicking the man onto his back. He stepped onto his chest, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he leaned over the Yakuza's head. He dug one of his heels into Rappa's forehead, getting the leverage he needed to pull down and roughly tear the blades free from his skull.

He wiped the blades off on the burly man's shirt before putting them back in the pair of hilts on each side of his waist. Without a second thought, he casually stepped out of the storehouse, leaving the carnage behind for someone else to deal with.

* * *

Shinsou groaned, eyelids clenching shut as the light stabbed through the thin membranes. His body felt like it was on fire, thousands upon thousands of pins and needles pressing into him as his bones creaked. His body was slowly bringing itself back to an active state, something his mind desperately begged a halt to. His cheek felt cold- pressed against a hard surface as he felt it sap the heat away from his body. He rolled to the side, feeling his skin practically peel away from the floor after sleeping on it for so long.

His limbs screamed in a lethargic agony as he brought his hands to his face, covering his features as he slowly brought himself to a sitting position. After a careful bout of light massaging and mental fortifying, he slowly opened his eyes, once again taking the world around him in.

He was still in the same bathroom he had locked himself in, the door showing no signs of tampering. The empty food tray still sat next to the door, lacking even a single grain of rice. He felt his stomach growl, sending vibrations up his malnourished spine as his body demanded more. The familiar sense of unease sank into his chest, causing his hands to tremble as he did his best to make sense of his situation.

But the more he thought, the less anything made sense. He shook his head, feeling the spikes of pain jut into his skull as he cleared his head.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, pressing himself against the door of the bathroom. He placed his ear against the thin wooden paneling, trying to discern any noise aside from the low hum of the air conditioning unit. He wasn't quite satisfied with the silence, but it was either now or never...

He slowly unlatched the lock on the door, sliding the door open as quietly as he could. He felt his heartbeat grow furious, pounding against his chest like a marching drum. He tried to make as little noise as possible as he stepped into the hallway, but the hum in his ears made it nearly impossible to listen for anything. He slowly stepped into the bedroom, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips as he saw the absence of a gore-dressed murderer in the corner. A similar trek to the living room revealed just the same. Aside from basic furnishings like a bed, coffee table, TV and a couch, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.

Shinsou retreated back into the hallway, eyes settling on the final door that remained unopened. He slowly slid the door open, showing a room he hadn't been in before. It contained the normal furniture for a kitchen- a stove with a small fish grill, a microwave oven, a sink and a fridge. To his side he noted the presence of a rickety table and some cheap chairs. They looked painful to sit in.

The purple-haired man's eyes were drawn to the fridge, a white sheet of paper folded neatly and pinned against the stained, white metal door by a magnet. He walked over, pulling the note free from its resting place. He unfolded it, reading the chicken-scratch scrawl written within.

_Frozen rice in the freezer. Some veggies and meat in the fridge, and some roux. Should be enough to last you a good 2 weeks, we'll bring some more food before then. _

_\- Caretaker_

He mindlessly blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the letter. They're... buying food for him? He remembered this 'Caretaker' mentioning that they left him supplies... how long ago was that? He couldn't remember.

His stomach growled at him again, the pain settling in as he clutched at his abdomen. He did enjoy the meal he was given, but he had barely any energy and his body demanded something to keep it running.

He threw the door open, finding exactly what was promised- a few boxes of curry roux, along with some carrots, potatoes, and onions. All of them were placed in featureless plastic bags. On the top shelf was a similar bag containing what he assumed to be beef, already cut into cubes about an inch thick. He wasted no time pulling them out, his stomach growling like a rabid animal at just the sight of the food. Rummaging through the fairly well stocked cabinets produced a cutting board, knife, pot and peeler, which he placed on the counter. He peeled the carrots, then chopped all the vegetables into rough chunks. He placed all the items in the pot, submerging them in water as he set it on the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He felt his saliva glands go into overdrive, his mouth flooding itself as he waited for his food to be done. In the back of his mind he already knew it wasn't prepared right, but as long as he could eat it, he couldn't care less.

His preoccupation with sustenance was quickly booted out of his system as the sound of a door slamming open and shut echoed from the other side of the wall. His eyes widened, breath hitching as he spun to face the door, leaning back on the counter as his hands clutched the edge. He felt his heart stop completely as he felt the heavy footsteps move down the hall, past the kitchen door. His first instinct told him to make a break for it, but a tightness in his chest told him that he wouldn't make it very far, whether or not the other person was actually chasing him.

He heard the steps slowly pace the entirety of the apartment, going into the other rooms as he slowly realized what the other figure was doing- it was _looking_ for him.

He covered his mouth with both hands as he heard the steps settle once more on the other side of the kitchen door. The weak wooden paneling was casually cast aside, sliding out of the way as Shinsou once again met the visage that greeted him just the day before-

He could barely suppress a scream as he witnessed the man in front of him. His dull green jumpsuit was splattered in a fine red mist, tainting the very air around him with a repulsive scent. His jacket and gloves were just as speckled, with the majority of the stains centered on his masked face and neck. The two stared at each other, one with an expression of abject horror, while the other looked as if he couldn't care less.

The former captive reached back, hands scrambling for something he could defend himself with. His fingertips brushed the hilt of the santoku knife he was previously using. He pulled the blade towards him, gripping the plastic handle firmly with both hands as he pointed it towards the bloody figure in front of him.

"D-don't make me use this." He warned, though his voice faltered considerably. "Just... leave me be."

There was only a moment of silence before the costumed figure reacted. He slowly closed the gap between the two of them, pushing Shinsou back while effortlessly plucking the knife from his hands. The purple-haired man winced as his back knocked against the counter, his weak legs giving out from under him as he leaned back for support. He watched as the man spun the blade in his palm, grip settling on its hilt as he blankly stared back at the other man in front of him.

Shinsou closed his eyes, grimacing as he expected some sort of retaliation... only to end with the clang of the knife clattering into the sink next to him. His eyes widened in shock, watching as the man calmly walked out of the room, turning past the door and walking down the hall towards the bathroom.

He heard the rush of water through the pipes in the wall as the shower in the next room turned on. The former captive clutched his hair in one hand, grimacing as he tried to make sense of it all. Nothing made sense anymore. If there was any point to that confrontation, it was only to establish that in terms of fighting prowess, then Shinsou stood no chance.

A sense of hopelessness and confusion flooded his mind, and in its haze he found himself sitting against the wall, head bowed and cradled in his hands.

This had to be a dream... none of this made any _sense_. Perhaps... perhaps he was still locked in Chronostasis' bedroom, and this was the fever dream consuming his brain as he slowly bled onto the floor.

He felt his mind slip slowly in and out of delirium, his sense of time unwinding as he tried to process that which he couldn't. He barely registered the sound of the door to the apartment opening a second time, with footsteps moving to the bathroom just as the water flow cut off. There was a small murmur just as the footsteps slowly traced back to the kitchen, stopping right in front of his near catatonic body.

"Shinsou Hitoshi, right?" The semi-familiar voice called out, snapping the man back to reality. He looked up, bloodshot eyes greeted by the sight of a hooded figure reaching over him, a medical mask obscuring the features of his face. "I'm glad we finally get to meet in person. I'm the Caretaker you spoke with yesterday. Are you feeling a little better?"

The vigilante stared dumbfounded at the masked man for a moment, before pushing himself up with his own hands.

"I... how do you know my name?"

"I have a friend in the police force, they've been keeping me informed on everything. You're quite famous, you know."

"...I see." He replied, looking away. He recognized that, under normal circumstances, he would probably make some form of snide remark, but... he couldn't even muster the mental energy for that.

The caretaker seemed rather nonplussed by the rejection of his help, instead opting to turn to look at the boiling pot of meat and vegetables. He turned off the heat, opening a pack of roux, breaking the solid brown bar into pieces and dropping it into the liquid.

"I apologize for the lack of food; your rescue was just as much a surprise to us as it probably was to you."

Shinsou's head lolled slightly as he watched the other man finish the meal, watching the roux dissolve until the entire pot's contents became submerged in a thick, rich gravy.

"Why was I rescued?" He asked, rubbing the side of his head.

The Caretaker reached into a nearby drawer, producing a ladle. He pointed it at the former captive.

"I'd like to know the answer to that, myself." After a few moments of stirring with the ladle, the masked man pulled a bowl from the cabinets, scooping a hefty serving from the pot into the dish. "Here, let's sit at the table for now. I could hear your stomach from the hall."

The purple-haired man grimaced, placing a hand on his still-trembling abdomen. The heavy, spiced scent of nutrient rich food practically carrying him over to the rickety chair. The moment the ceramic bowl was placed in front of him, he scarfed it down like a wild animal, not even bothering to taste it as it traveled down his throat. The molten liquid left a numb trail on his tongue and esophagus, but Shinsou could care less about the light burns he was inflicting on himself. Anything was better than the desolate hunger he was subjected to for the past month.

It was a matter of mere minutes before the food was depleted, and though he knew there was more that he could eat, he hesitated. For a brief moment, a sense of clarity washed over him, and it was then that he noticed the other figure staring back at him, cheek resting on his knuckles as he propped his elbow on the table. The dust mask covered any possible expression, but he felt as if he was being stared at with a sense of mild bemusement. The former captive started feeling a little self-conscious about his ravenous display.

"...What is this place?" He asked, eyes narrowing as he felt his mental faculties slowly rebuild.

"It's a hideout we use for the Avatar." The Caretaker sat up, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

"The Avatar?" Shinsou echoed. "You mean... that person."

"The one and only. Though, it appears the police nicknamed him Jackrabbit." He shrugged. "I'll give them points for creativity. Are you scared of him?"

"Should I not be scared of people covered in blood?" He bit back, feeling his baggy eyes twitch.

"Well, he _did_ save you. But I suppose you're right." He sighed, standing up. The masked man walked to the door, leaning around the frame as he called out. "Hey! Get in here."

Shinsou felt his breath hitch as he heard the heavy thudding footsteps slowly make their way down the hallway. He felt his eyes widen instinctively as he watched the figure slowly proceed out of the shadows.

It was a man, close to his age, dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt. He didn't seem incredibly muscled, in fact quite the opposite. His semi-lithe figure was wrapped in a near flawless alabaster skin, only blemished by a set of freckles beneath each eye. His dull green irises peaked out from under a mop of damp green hair, bluntly staring at the two other occupants as if quietly waiting for his graveyard shift to end.

The former captive sat frozen, joints locked painfully into place as he felt a sense of panic begin to well up in his chest. His stomach turned sour, threatening to empty itself of the food he just ate.

"Hey!" The Caretaker chirped, startling the purple-haired man back to reality. "Don't freak out. If he thought you shouldn't live, you'd be dead already."

Shinsou slowly turned his head to face the person speaking to him, unsure of what exactly to make of that statement. In the end, he settled with a simple. "...Oh."

"He's not the kind of person to hurt innocents... though I guess 'person' may be a bit strong of a word..."

The other man felt his stomach lurch at that last statement. He turned back to the once-bloodied man, only to find him staring past the two of them. What Shinsou once took for an aloof glare was, upon closer inspection, an empty void with seemingly no cognizance behind it.

"...What..." He trailed off.

"So you finally see it, right? Like I said, he's not a person."

"...Then what is he?"

"Technically, he's a visitor. But I think a more accurate description is that he's a golem." He snapped his fingers, causing the Avatar's head to lock onto him. The Caretaker glanced back at Shinsou, a semi-satisfied sigh escaping from behind his mask. "See? All he can do is take orders. Talented as he is, don't expect to hold a conversation with him."

"Did you tell him to..."

"What, raid Yakuza bases? No, he gets those orders from someone else, far more powerful than you could dream." He leaned forward, his tone dropping all sense of casualty. "I'd be careful of the questions you ask. You may end up getting hurt, or worse.

"What," Shinsou immediately retorted, the other's serious tone not lost on him. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Not at all." The Caretaker shook his head. He pulled at the rim of his hoodie's sleeve, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal his forearm. It was heavily scarred, webbed red welts and splotches moving past his wrist and all the way up to his elbow, disappearing under the layers of bunched cloth. "I'm simply warning you. Please don't take me for the enemy here."

"...What's the point of all this, then? Why are you going after the Yakuza?" Shinsou asked, drained voice pressing forward.

"Isn't it enough that we are getting rid of your captors for you?"

"It isn't." He rebutted, his voice growing firmer. "I'm locked in an apartment with no way to leave. You're just nicer than the Yakuza."

The Caretaker shrugged, splaying his half-raised arms to his sides. "You're free to leave any time, though you and I both know that probably won't bode well for you right now."

The purple-haired man bit his tongue, glare deepening as his frustrations grew.

The masked man paused for just a moment, before pushing himself to his feet as he walked to the door. He readjusted the sleeves of his blue striped hoodie, lightly finicking with the hem of the cuffs.

"I'm leaving for now. I'll get you some more food in the next few days. If you plan on staying, you should get some rest."

"Wait." Shinsou called out, causing the Caretaker to pause just a moment.

"You know about me... that includes my quirk, right?"

The masked man turned to face him, nodding. "That's right."

"And you talked with me anyway?" He asked, a genuine tone of confusion seeping into his voice. "What if I brainwashed you?"

"Thanks for the concern, but I already had that covered." The Caretaker spun on his heels, walking out the door as he motioned for the Avatar to follow. Just as he left the room, he called back, "I ordered him to kill you if you hypnotized me. I'm glad you didn't."

* * *

The Shibuya City Sasazuka Library was fairly quiet, but especially so in the early afternoon. With most salarymen working and most children in school, there were few there, which provided a great spot for those who didn't belong to either group to meet up in a fairly private place. Such was the case for one barista in the public group study space, practically shaking in the thin wooden chair as he looked vacantly at the faux wood surface of the table.

Izuku knew he was sitting weirdly; he just _knew_ it. He shifted himself around quite a bit, hands pursed in his lap as his mind raced with the proper way to seat oneself, trying to not look to formal but also not too casual. Were his legs too close together? Too wide? Was his back too straight? Why was he so nervous in the first place? It's just a friendly meetup, right? Talking with a new friend shouldn't be this big of an issue.

Maybe it was the nerves of meeting up after asking his acquaintance to hold their meeting somewhere outside of the coffee shop. There wasn't any pushback- quite the opposite in fact, but it still made him feel tense.

"Oh, hey! There you are." A cheerful voice called out, causing the green-haired young adult to practically jump in his seat.

He found himself sitting as straight as a ruler, legs crunched together like they were magnetized to each other. His hands pressed firmly into his jeans, the force he was exerting was sure to leave bruises. He felt blood rush to his face as his head snapped to the person greeting him.

"O-oh! Hey, Yu- Yuuki." He stiltedly called back. The anxiety of the situation seemed somewhat reflected on his new friend's face, and though he appeared to be slightly more composed, Izuku could clearly see the small tremble causing his bottom lip to wobble under his protruding fangs.

"So... uh... How have you been?" He called back, smiling wide. The black-haired boy looked as if he had caught himself doing something bad, covering his mouth for a second. When he removed his hand, his mouth was now closed, curled into a much more reserved expression of happiness. The other occupant of the room couldn't help but notice that he attempted to tuck his fangs behind his bottom lip, causing it to bump out ever so slightly.

"I've been doing f-fine... I guess..." Izuku trailed off, rubbing the back of his head reassuringly. He pointed to a pair of paper cups on the table, each with plastic lids and a cardboard heat guard. "I made you some coffee t-too, it should still be warm- If you want it that is! Y-you don't have to..."

Yuuki grabbed the cup, putting it up to his lips. He took a swig of the friendly offering, his smile widening, causing his fangs to pop back out into view.

"I don't know how you make this so well. You're going to get me addicted to this stuff." He giggled under his breath, taking the seat on the other end of the small table.

"I'm glad you like it! It's about the one thing I can do right..." He trailed off, looking to the side as the corners of his lips twitched up slightly.

"So... did you bring your notebooks?"

"What? Oh! Yeah." The barista reached under the table, pulling out a small handbag. He clicked open the latch, revealing a small stack of composition books. "I only brought a few of them, I figured this would be good enough for now, then we can maybe do this another time, too."

Yuuki's eyes widened, resting his mouth on the frayed edges of his blue striped hoodie, his voice slightly muffled. "No, that's fine! I'd love to do this more than once... If that's okay with you, that is..."

"Y-yeah!" Izuku chirped, feeling his cheeks heat slightly as he watched the other young adult produce his own set of spiral bound pocket notebooks. A strange sense of relief washed over him as he saw them for the first time- he never met anyone in person who shared the same interests as him. Hero watching was a semi-popular pastime, sure... but there's only so much validation an online forum could bring. He could feel a sense of curiosity tug at the corners of his mind.

"So... what kind of heroes do you like?" The vampiric man asked, an almost childlike wonderment rising in his voice. "I prefer ones specializing in fighting villains, myself."

"I do too!" The barista nodded, excitement growing in his own voice. "The other ones are good too, but I like watching the fights, since you can get so much useful information out of them. Especially seeing how they progress, too. Like that one hostage situation at the Resona Bank in Shinagawa, where Mudman ended up turning all the ground to quicksand- except where the hostages themselves were! He used to never be able to do that before, but now he can keep up to about 40 people unaffected by his quirk-"

He slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide in a surprised shame as he shook his head. "I'm so sorry... when I get too excited, I start to mumble a lot-"

"No, no it's fine!" Yuuki held his hands up in front of his chest, waving at Izuku to stop his apology. "I didn't get to see that, but I love stuff like that. Who's your favorite?"

"Uh... Right now I'd say it's a tie between Earphone Jack and Lemillion. They're so charismatic. It's hard for me to choose." He laughed, rubbing the back of his head again. "What about you?"

"Well, I love rooting for the underdogs!" Yuuki proudly proclaimed, opening one of his books up and flipping though the pages. "I started getting into some of the more stealth-based heroes over the past few weeks. I really love watching both Vantablack and Tsukuyomi-"

The vampiric boy was cut short as Izuku visibly flinched in his seat, a wave of static rolling though his mind as every muscle in his body seized up. He felt himself nearly fall out of his seat, but at the last second his mind cleared up enough for him to clutch at the table and keep him upright.

"A-are you alright?" Yuuki asked, visibly distressed. He jumped out of his chair and held his hands out, unsure as to whether or not he should help to steady the barista.

"No... N-no, I don't- I don't know what came over me. Sorry. Please go on."

"...Okay..." He trailed off, slowly seated himself again, clearing his throat. "Yeah, uh... I'm not sure which of the two I like more. They've got this whole rivalry thing, so I've been trying to consider which 'side' I want to pick. My favorite used to be Ground Zero, but... after the incident I thought it wasn't best for him to be there. I wonder if the family is still pursuing that lawsuit..."

Izuku bit his lip, closing his eyes as he gathered a bit of his composure. The mention of that name alone was enough to bring waves of melancholy into his system. "No. The hero office settled for him before they went to court. He was put on indefinite leave at the time... no word on when he'll be allowed to come back."

"I see." Yuuki leaned back. "That sucks. I was hoping to see him grow a bit as a hero. What are your thoughts on him?"

"I-" The barista's voice caught in his throat. "Uh- I don't- Hmm. He's... I don't know, honestly. We... He was in all my classes up until middle school."

"Really?!" The vampiric man's eyes lit up, flipping through one of his books. He slammed his finger on one page, sliding it across the table to show his studying partner. "You _have_ to tell me what he was like! Was his quirk always that strong? How did he get his attitude? Did you get to meet his family? What were they-"

Izuku shook his head vigorously, clutching the edges of the table in desperation. The reaction caused Yuuki to immediately stop talking. "Stop. I don't- He wasn't... I- Can we talk about something else, please? I just... I don't want to talk about him. I'm sorry."

The realization hit the black-haired boy like a sack of bricks, all traces of excitement dying in his throat. "Oh... I knew he acted like that, but... I thought it was just for show. I'm... I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine, it's just..."

Yuuki shook his head. "No, if he's like that... I should just remove him from my notes."

Izuku's head shot up in surprise as he saw the other man grab a clump of pages from his notebook, pulling them to the side in order to free them from their bindings. The barista gasped, slamming his own hand on the book, stopping the other man before he could cause even a single tear. The two of them looked at each other in shock, before simultaneously yelping and yanking their hands away from each other.

"Sorry, I just- you don't need to do that. Please don't do that just for me." The green-haired man felt himself getting flustered by the second. He shot up from his chair, grabbing his materials and hastily shoving them into his bag. "I think- I... I'm sorry, I think I should go. I want to do this again but... let's talk later."

Yuuki reached out, mouth open but words failing to come out as he watched Izuku make his exit. A weight formed in his stomach as he looked out the window, seeing the barista scamper down the stairs, heading to the Sasazuka Train Station that neighbored the building. He felt his face grow red with a mix of shame and humiliation. He closed his eyes, pulling his hood over his head as he curled inwards.

"Sorry..." He shakily whispered to the empty space next to him. "...I didn't mean to..."

* * *

"Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Tsukauchi called out, a sour expression on his face as he watched his uncooperative partner step out of the freight elevator. "Just because the bodies aren't going anywhere doesn't mean you can get to a crime scene whenever you feel like it."

Bakugou grunted, casting his gaze aside. He certainly looked worse for wear; bags hung under his eyelids, almost tugging on his bloodshot eyes. The rest of his face was covered with a face mask, the fabric slowly pulsing outwards and inwards to the pace of his breathing. There was a damp splotch in the center, where some kind of liquid was dabbed on the outside of the mask.

"You sick?" The detective pointed the tip of his pin at the blonde.

His question was met with a grunt and a shake of the head.

"Well, whatever. Let's get to business." Tsukauchi flipped through his notebook, his thumb stopping the pages as they neared the end. "Storeroom used by the Yakuza to hide some of their less illicit goods. Yet again it was reported via an anonymous tip. I'm pissed though... I was hoping our killer would simply keep his stomping grounds to Kabukicho, but it seems we're not that lucky. That makes our job much, much harder."

The suspended hero grunted again, nodding as he listened to the briefing.

"We've counted 14 bodies inside, all but one armed with a weapon. Among the victims was Rappa, a high ranking member within the Eight Precepts of Death. Now that you're finally here, we can comb over the site ourselves." He strode over to the door to the storehouse, pushing it open as he gestured to Bakugou to go inside. "You first, I insist."

With minimal reaction, the blonde shoved his hands into his pockets, sauntering through the door and into the crime scene. The macabre display of bodies took him by shock for just a moment, before the feeling eroded away to nothingness- a cold stone formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was getting _used_ to scenes like this.

The place was devoid of any living people, aside from the investigative duo. Sensing the question arising, Tsukauchi went ahead and answered it.

"The techs are going to take a while- they're trying to figure out how we're going to get them all out. There's not a lot of room for the vehicles. The only other person in here was the guy in charge of canvassing the site."

Bakugou nodded, pulling a pair of gloves and shoe covers out from his pockets. He slipped them on with little fuss and began meandering the room, careful not to step in the many pools of blood that had slowly tendrilled away from the bodies.

He weaved himself through the pallets of crates that lined the building in regular intervals, and with each turn of the corner he was met with a sight more gruesome than the last. Many of these people were lying on their stomachs or backs, hands clutching at their throats. Their skin was stained red, the fluid dried and flaking off of their bodies. One in particular was particularly disturbing- there was a cord wrapped around his neck, with a large smear of dried blood caking the linoleum floor down the row of boxes. It looked like his neck was sliced open, and at the same moment someone had caught him by the neck with the cord to drag him out of sight.

Each one of them seemed to be taken by surprise somehow. It reminded him of a nature documentary he mindlessly watched some time ago. One of its segments showcased a spider species native to Japan- instead of weaving webs, they would make trap doors they could fold open. They gathered their food by jumping out and surprising their prey, attacking so quickly that their target had no time to react.

He felt a shiver crawl its way up his spine, causing his fingertips to twitch. He shook his head, clearing himself of those errant thoughts. Now was not the time.

The pro hero took a deep breath in, thankful that the dab of peppermint oil he put on his mask was still holding up. He couldn't imagine what the stench alone would do to his stomach.

He huffed, unsure of what he should even be looking for. Shaking his head, he returned to the center of the storehouse, watching as Tsukauchi picked at what could be considered the pièce de résistance of the scene. The notorious Yakuza boxer, Rappa, lay mutilated next to the bodies of his subordinates.

Bakugou watched as the detective wedged his gloved fingers under the elastic rim of the plague doctor mask, lifting the thin material from the corpse's face. Bits of shattered glass tumbled off the edges of his face, making small _tink_ling noises as they clattered to the ground. Beneath it, his barbaric face was contorted into an expression of pure agony. His reddish-brown hair fell over his eyes, but the blood and other unidentifiable fluids trailing down his face prevented either of the investigators from wanting to reveal what was underneath.

"We'll know exactly the cause of death once the coroner gets their hands on this, but... I think it's safe to say that was the cause of death." Tsukauchi concluded. "Hm? He's wearing a Bluetooth headset, but I don't see a phone. His pockets were empty, too."

He looked around for a moment, before an epiphany hit him. "Hey! Help me roll him over."

Bakugou grunted, sauntering over as he bent over and grabbed the shoulder of the dead Yakuza lieutenant. The detective followed suit, grasping one side of the man's waist as they simultaneously pulled up, heaving as they rolled him on his side.

Just as his hunch lead him to believe, a small plastic burner phone was underneath the body, probably having fallen out during the fight leading to his demise. Tsukauchi swiped it off the ground, flipping it open as he began scouring its contents.

"No lock on it, lucky for us- Wait, what?!" His eyes widened, leaning in closer to the small screen as his taps on the number pad increased exponentially. "This guy... he didn't erase anything. Chronostasis' phone was wiped clean before we got there, but this one has a record going back _months._ Even a call recording log... Why would he even have this?"

The other investigator remained silent, looking away as he waited for the detective to finish.

"Hey." Tsukauchi barked, causing Bakugou's head to snap back at his superior's direction. His inquisitive expression had all but faded, replaced with a more serious, almost accusatory glare. "What's the deal with you? You haven't said a single thing since you've arrived."

The blonde shrugged, shaking his head. "Not much to say."

"Don't give me that." He stood up, walking up until he was almost bumping into the pro hero. "Don't tell me you're still kicking yourself over letting this guy go. Do you really think moping around is going to help anyone?"

"Shut it." Bakugou bit back, the comment clearly striking a nerve with him. "There's just nothing for me to say."

"Then you better find something to say. Believe it or not, I didn't pick you because of your attitude problem."

"Why _did_ you pick me, then?!" He shouted back, frustration marking each peak in his voice. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing! All I've been doing is going to these shitty corpse parties with you after I let him go!"

Tsukauchi sighed, shoulders dropping slightly as he watched the blonde shake with anger. "Look, I don't blame you for this scene here, but I doubt me saying that is going to change anything for you. If you _really_ want to get this guy off the streets, then at least double down and put more effort into finding him with me."

Bakugou sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. He was definitely angry, but at least outwardly it looked like he accepted the detective's admonishment.

"Let's start with this, then." The older man held out the burner phone. "You read the files on the Eight Precepts; I saw you studying them in the office. I think he's gathering data for someone, but I can't pin down exactly who."

"I don't think he is." The pro hero butted in, taking the phone for himself. He scrolled through the messages, noting that many of them were favorited or marked as important by Rappa. Most of what was logged as special was information or orders pertaining to himself. "That's what I thought. This dude's supposed to be dumb as rocks, right? Even his own fighting style is just 'keep punching till they die.' He probably recorded everything because he was too stupid to remember it all. I doubt Overhaul even knew he was doing that."

Tsukauchi bit the tip of his pen, before pulling out his notebook to scribble more notes down. "I actually didn't think of that. You may be right. Plus Rappa doesn't seem the type to be fond of espionage... even if he just stayed with Overhaul because he wanted to defeat him."

"But why is he here?" Bakugou wondered aloud. "You said this was for shit that wasn't illegal, right? He wouldn't be here if there wasn't."

"That's true, I was curious about that myself. Let's take a look around."

"There's too much shit here, though. It's all locked, too. Can't we wait for someone else to do it?"

The detective looked towards the door, making sure the coast was clear before replying. "If those tips are coming from the Eight Precepts, it's possible that they've got someone on the force in charge of keeping their operations under wraps. I'm not keen on letting that happen if we have the chance to stop that, got it?"

Bakugou nodded, taking another look at his surroundings. He pointed at a set of spiral stairs nestled in the back of the room, leading up and out of sight. "Should I check that out?"

"No," Tsukauchi replied, shaking his head. "I checked that already. It's just there for roof access, but the door has been sealed shut as far as I can tell. It goes up to the rafts of this floor and the rest is cordoned off into its own shaft. I think it was probably meant to be taken down during renovations, but... technically this floor has been under construction for the past 8 years."

"Perfect cover for stashing stuff."

"Exactly. You think you can make some small explosions to blow the locks off? I don't have a lockpick."

Bakugou nodded, and the two of them set off down the rows of crate pallets.

"We won't have time to search them all, and to be frank we don't have the equipment to unstack all these boxes." The detective noted. "There's a few odd boxes sitting off by themselves, let's check those out first."

The investigators methodically moved from one end of the floor to the other, carefully stepping past each body as they found a container they could open up. They all contained some form of merchandise or memorabilia, some of which they recognized from various shops all over the city.

"Do they really just buy random shit like this?" The pro hero asked, his frustrated confusion increasing with each crate of stuffed miniature animals that he opened. "Why are they buying all this crap?!"

"I don't think they're buying it; I think they're _selling_ it." Tsukauchi replied, gloved finger perched between his lips. "They make most of their money by illegal methods, but it's not uncommon for them to have their own industries to invest in. They probably make and sell these on the cheap, which can net them a small profit in case something goes awry with their cash cows."

Bakugou grunted, still annoyed with the work he was doing. Eventually they came across a unique scene, a snakelike woman on her back, and a man slumped in front of a box that was already broken into. His back was contorted, bent out of shape by something he fell on.

"That's the first woman I've seen at these places." The blonde noted, staring down at her surprised expression.

"I'm surprised too-" The detective agreed, taken aback at the sight. "They're... well, historically, they never allowed women to be in this position. Even wives or hostesses were excluded. Overhaul is a pragmatist, though... now that he's essentially the sole ruler of the underground here, he probably let those who showed potential into his ranks."

"I've seen those plastic thingies, too..." Bakugou trailed off, picking one up. "Don't you win these things at Pachinko Parlors?"

"You've got to be..." Tsukauchi snatched it out of his hands, much to his annoyance. "They're getting back into this industry?!"

"What's the deal with them? It's just like everything else here, right? I've got a few of these at home."

The detective looked back at the ignorant blonde, the color draining out of his face. "You... should get rid of them. It's not a good look for heroes or policemen to have them. You don't know what those tokens are, I assume?"

"Yeah, they're like... just plastic prizes like the ones you can get at an arcade, right? You trade the balls for 'em."

The older man sighed, a look of almost genuine disappointment on his face. "Those 'tokens' are stand-ins for money winnings. You're supposed to sell them at a nearby shop that accepts them- they do this so the parlor can get around gambling laws. If the Yakuza are distributing these, then it means they're also getting back into the gambling business."

"...Should I sell them?"

"I'd prefer you throw them away. But what you do when I'm not around is none of my business. Grab that guy's feet, let's see what he's laying on."

Tsukauchi grabbed the man's shoulders as Bakugou grabbed his legs; and they carefully moved him to the side. The item he was on top of was revealed- a black box containing a grid of syringes, each one with a dull red shield encompassing the contents.

"Well..." The detective trailed off, "Looks like they're hiding Trigger in some of these shipments. All accounted for... looks like Jackrabbit isn't interested in using it."

"What would it do with his quirk?" Bakugou looked at the other investigator. "He heals himself, right?"

"Recovering from a shot to the head isn't healing, that's practically resurrection. But you mentioned how he was making the crowd subconsciously avoid him, too... But that can't be a part of his quirk. Maybe he really is quirkless and has others helping him from a distance?"

"What if he has more than one?" The blonde nonchalantly suggested.

The detective looked back at him with eyes wide, his skin turning pallid as a look of genuine fear crossed his features for just a brief moment. "...That is a possibility as well."

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing his palms off on the legs of his pants.

"I think we've found all we need to for now. Unless you have anything else you'd like to check out, we should head to the office."

Bakugou nodded, getting up and following the older man out of the storeroom. The detective pressed the call button on the elevator, and with a chime the doors opened for them. Before stepping on, he grabbed the pro hero's shoulder with a firm grasp, stopping the two of them for just a moment.

"Oh, and... leave the phone out of the reports for now. I don't want a malicious actor to get their hands on it, not until I've gathered what I need. Got it?"

The blonde nodded, breaking the grip and striding into the metal box. He watched as the doors slowly closed, finally separating him from that gruesome scene.

He felt his fists clench as the elevator rumbled downwards. Even if they were criminals... those deaths were on his hands. He felt a renewed vigor in his system, as he mentally swore to catch this murderer, once and for all.

* * *

Shinsou sat on the edge of the bed, head hung as he stared at his hands laid limply in his lap. He felt the lull of sleep tug him back, his body begging his brain to simply lie down and forget about it all. He resisted, of course, the creeping paranoia keeping his mind flush with cortisol the moment his eyes closed longer than a fraction of a second. He shook his head, letting another wave of melancholic uncertainty sweep him away.

He couldn't stay here- he absolutely shouldn't. But the outside world... he knew there was merit to what the Caretaker had said to him before. He wasn't an unknown figure in the underground, not anymore... and there was no doubt the Eight Precepts forced all their dogs and pawns to commit his face to memory. Chronostasis was the only one interested in giving him an option where he walks away alive, and... based off of the state this 'Jackrabbit' was in when he was rescued, he doubted he was still alive.

The idea itself that this killer was little more than a mindless drone acting at the behest of a higher power was something else he had to consider... Who were these people? What are they trying to achieve? They were organized enough to have their own spies in the police, but... he had never heard of them until now. The mere fact that there was potentially an entire faction of people sowing chaos and gore into the underside of Tokyo... one that had never seen the light of day, no less... it sent shivers up his aching spine.

He was snapped out of his drowsy worries by the sound of the front door to the apartment opening and closing forcefully. The purple haired man pushed himself off the mattress, pressing himself against the door as he put his ear against it to listen. He heard the heavy footsteps make their way out of the living room, down the hall, stopping right outside the bathroom. He must be covered in blood again-

He yelped as the footsteps suddenly halted, changing direction to head straight for the bedroom door. The wooden panel was abruptly slid aside, causing Shinsou to lose his footing as he fell forward, slamming right into the chest of the mass murderer. He jumped back, socks slipping against the polished wood floor. He felt his legs slide out from under him, and he watched as the world tumbled, ending with a dull _thud_ as his butt crashed into the ground. He winced, looking back up at the man standing over him.

Jackrabbit was not covered in viscera, not this time, at least. But that didn't stop his signature bored stare from boring a hole into the fallen vigilante, quietly observing his every move. Shinsou slowly pushed himself back to a standing position, eyes nervously locked on the figure standing in the doorway, blocking his only exit from the apartment. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm himself as the two of them motionlessly stared at each other.

He didn't know how long it took for him to work up the nerve to say something. In the back of his mind, he heard the caretaker mention that all this... thing did was take orders given to him. But was that always the case?

An epiphany hit him as his thoughts flashed back to earlier that day. When Jackrabbit disarmed him, then simply leaving him there as if nothing happened.

_"D-don't make me use this. Just... leave me be."_

Telling him to go away was one order... did this creature take the phrase 'Don't make me use this' as a command to take the knife away from him?

...Was he able to command him like that Caretaker was able to?

Shinsou cleared his throat, straightening his back as he stared straight at the man in front of him.

"Step aside." He barked, his voice deep and terse. He wasn't sure if the tone was needed, but it sure seemed to help calm his wildly beating heart.

Almost immediately, the costumed man stepped back, moving to his right to clear a path for the vigilante.

The former captive nodded, clenching his fists tightly as he strode past the assassin, down the hallway and into the living room. He heard a second set of footsteps following closely behind him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up on end. He spun around, watching as the masked individual dutifully stayed back, callously staring back at the man giving him orders.

"Take off your mask."

Jackrabbit grabbed the fangs of his spider mask, pulling back to slide the silicone and fabric off his face. His mass of fluffy green hair practically puffed out; its volume much larger now that it wasn't wet. His vacant eyes radiated a jade green hue, boring themselves into the hypnotic vigilante. Shinsou carefully took a few steps towards the other man, trying to get a better look at his features. Just like the first time, he noted there was almost a sense of fragility and innocence to this person. He was completely devoid of any scuffs or scars typically found on those who fight criminals, especially considering his stature and the acts of violence he was accused of.

It was then that another realization had hit him- he had yet to try out his quirk. He wasn't quite sure how it would react with someone the Caretaker insisted was "not a person." Logically speaking, it was likely that nothing would come of it. There was also the possibility that this was an innocent person subjected to some form of intense hypnosis, but... trying to exert his will on someone already hypnotized was another untested scenario.

Quelling the doubt rising in his stomach, he cleared his throat again. He wanted to avoid any sort of rejection or ambiguity- a simple command should do the trick.

"...Say 'Hi.'"

No response.

Shinsou sighed, shoulders falling slightly at the rejection of his order. Was he simply incapable of making any sort of verbal remark?

No, it's too soon to make that kind of conclusion. Knowing he was relatively free from harm and that this person would likely not cause him harm, he felt his curiosity get the better of him. He nervously walked up, standing right in front of the green-haired man in front of him.

"I told you to say 'Hi' to me."

Jackrabbit stared back at him, keeping quiet.

"Look, this shouldn't be that hard." Shinsou chided, growing more agitated by the second. "Just say something!"

The two of them remained like that for a while, with Shinsou demanding a verbal response in various ways to no avail. His scowl was rapidly deepening, his commands growing more frustrated as he tried to get anything out of the dumb cretin in front of him.

Fifteen minutes of this barrage of angry demands passed, culminating in Shinsou grabbing Jackrabbit's jaw, pulling down on it to force the man's mouth open.

"Breathe in and hold it." He commanded, watching as the green haired creature obeyed.

The vigilante placed his hand on the side of the assassin's throat, pressing his thumb lightly on the corner where the trachea and the underside of the jaw met. It was a technique he used few times before, but only rarely since it required getting up close and personal with his targets, something Shinsou knew better than doing in most circumstances.

"Breathe out." He ordered.

The purple haired man watched as Jackrabbit pushed the air from his lungs. The way that his neck was being pressed down caused his vocal cords to involuntarily activate as he exhaled, making him produce a single pronounced _"Haaaaaaaaaah_" as he breathed.

The vocal reaction was the opportunity Shinsou was looking for. He closed his eyes, feeling his presence slowly extend from his own body and into that of the man in front of him.

He was immediately taken aback by the sensation it caused him- when he brainwashed someone, there was always a kind of spark that triggered in his mind once he established a connection with their presence. With this mysterious killer, it felt as if he just dove headfirst into a bottomless, icy pool, freezing him to the core. It was as if the thing he was looking for simply wasn't there, replaced with this vacant, vast expanse.

He furrowed his brow, projecting his quirk further inside. Even if he was only capable of taking orders, there had to be _something_ in his head that allowed those orders to be taken...

He continued deeper in, the sensation growing so strong that he felt his limbs grow numb. He could almost feel his very being slowly wisp away, diluting itself into this empty space. He knew something was very wrong, but... if he could just push a little more...

_There it was_ . Some kind of presence; miniscule, but there. Not far away. He felt his body subconsciously suck in as much air as it could. His lungs ached, threatening to explode if he tried to force any more in. He gritted his teeth, covering the last stretch of nothingness-

His mental presence just barely brushed against its surface; almost immediately, he felt the air rush out of his lungs. He clutched his head, screaming as the thing he reached for exploded in size, expanding- no, _blossoming_ into something different, consuming the mental void and casting out everything else. Shinsou quickly cut the connection, stumbling back into the wall as he felt his legs give out. He slid to the ground, sucking air in and out of his gritted teeth rapidly. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as he clenched them shut.

He felt a _thud_ next to him, the sound of something heavy collapsing on the floor. Then, a groan... not his echoing across the hallway and straight into Shinsou's ear canals.

The pain refused to leave, but the foreign noises woke the former captive's senses up like a cold shower. He opened his eyes, blurry with pained tears as he watched Jackrabbit writhe on the ground, gloved hands covering his face. Eventually his erratic motions stopped, ending with his fingers twitching aside to reveal his eyes- brighter than before, their gaze much more focus.

The silent killer opened his mouth of his own volition.

"What...?"

* * *

_Yokumitsu stirred awake at the sound of someone knocking on the door to the dark room. It was a light, regularly paced rapping, something he guessed would only come from that squid-headed eccentric. He rubbed his gloves against his perfectly curved mirror-mask, shaking his head as he tried to recall his surroundings- same grimy apartment, same dingy bed, same human puppet slumped in his wooden chair. _

_The knocking became slightly more insistent, eliciting a groan from the resident. _

_"I'm coming, I'm coming! Jeez..."_

_He opened the door, stepping aside as Neo-Mokai strode in, zeroing in on his pet project in the middle of the room. He crouched to the young adult's eye level, pulling at his eyelids and lips with his fingertips, intently observing something that the other being couldn't understand. Seemingly satisfied, the squid-masked man stood up, turning around to face his peer. _

_"Nothing out of the usual?"_

_Yokumitsu shook his head. "Same as always."_

_"Good, good. Should be a simple recalibration, then."_

_"Wha... Where... am I?"_

_The two masked men froze in place as an unexpected third voice bounced across the room. They both focused their attention on the green-haired boy in their midst. His eyes were losing their haze; he was quickly regaining his focus, and his focus was on them. _

_Neo-Mokai wasted no time in responding. He dove at the boy, causing the chair to shatter to bits as he pinned all of his limbs to the ground with his own. A shrill scream raced out of the young adult's mouth, only to be cut off as the wriggling tentacles on the mask shot downwards, racing into each open orifice in Izuku's head. _

_Yokumitsu watched in horror, slowly inching his way to his bed as the excruciating process continued. What was originally a screech devolved into a whine, fading away to nothingness. The only sign that he was alive came in the form of his body twitching, coinciding with one of the slimy tendrils pressing deeper into his skull. _

_Eventually, the squid-masked man finished, leaving the once-lucid man vacant and drooling on the floor. _

_"What... what was that?" The man with the mirror mask worriedly asked. "How did he-" _

_"What did YOU DO?!" Neo-Mokai yelled, turning around to face his peer. "How do you keep screwing up like this?!" _

_"Wh-wha- W-wait, I didn't-" _

_"Don't give me that drivel, you absolute waste of effort!" The man bellowed, sauntering over to a cowering Yokumitsu with his finger pointing accusingly at him. "It's ALWAYS you! I was hoping for once you'd be able to do something right, but apparently that's just too much to ask for!" _

_The mirror-masked man pulled his knees up to his chest, hands clutching the side of his head as he tried to hide himself from view. _

_"I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't DO anything!" His body began to tremble, a small hiccup eking out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what I did but I'm sorry..." _

_"I..." Neo-Mokai sighed, his voice slowly returning to his calmer, more composed tone. "No. I said things I shouldn't have. I apologize, this unexpected turn of events caught me off guard. You don't deserve me taking it out on you." _

_"...Okay..."_

_"Look, Ts- Yokumitsu... We should be fine for now. I'll be coming by more often to do checkups, but... if anything happens- ANYTHING... please tell me, okay?" _

_The mirror masked man dejectedly nodded, not saying anything. The other man paused for just a moment, before turning to head out the door. He turned the handle, stopping only when he heard the quiet voice of his peer speak up. _

_"...Is this bad?"_

_The question caused Neo-Mokai to freeze up, the weight of those three words pressing down on his mind. He brought his curled fist to the part of his mass of tendrils where his mouth should be, giving it some serious thought. It wasn't long before he realized something- he felt his shoulders instinctively rise as a small chuckle escaped his body. _

_"Actually, this could be good. Very good, indeed." He threw open the door, stepping out of the room. As the door closed, he called back. _

_"Keep a good eye on him for me. My plans for him just got a lot better."_

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! As always, a review of the chapter is always appreciated, and will help me to hone my skills even further with your feedback! And if you'd like, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Tumblr, and drop me a line there as well! Thanks again!


	5. Thy Nerves Extracted

"...What?"

The single utterance of the word sent shivers up Shinsou's spine as he stared wide-eyed at the man laying next to him. He felt his diaphragm spasm, raggedly drawing in more air than he could handle, the rush of oxygen straining the weak, ballooned pleura. He froze solid, skin growing paler by the moment as Jackrabbit raised his arm up into the air, looking up with a mild curiosity as he splayed his palm, curling and uncurling his fingers. The gloves he wore were thick, made of some sort of rubbery material that had an eggshell color. Upon closer inspection, they carried a faint reddish tint, which once noticed could not be unseen.

As if drawn up by strings, this green haired stranger lifted himself into a sitting position, slowly placing his hands on the floor to provide him with a better balance. He blinked a few times, half-lidded eyes soaking up the details of the bare-bones apartment around him. Eventually, he turned his head, looking down to stare at the other man in the apartment, who looked as if he would die of a heart attack at any moment.

"...What did you do?" He bluntly asked, causing the purple haired vigilante to flinch.

"I... I don't- I thought I-... Uh..." He stumbled over his words, his mind unable to find the answer to what he actually _did._

"I'm not supposed to be awake. You did something." He braced his hands against the floor, pushing himself up to his feet in a single, fluid motion. "Why did you wake me up?"

Shinsou felt the edges of his vision darken as the scent of something acrid flooded his nose. He didn't know what was going on, this is all _wrong_. The overwhelming sensations he experienced while diving into this killer's brain completely annihilated his senses, and all that was left was the feeling that he had made things a lot worse.

"...What are you?" He slurred out, his mouth seemingly speaking for itself.

"I'm the Avatar." He immediately responded. "I'm here to cleanse the filth of this world."

The vigilante wasn't sure how to respond. He felt his jaw fall slack, staring wordlessly back at the assassin standing over him.

Jackrabbit didn't wait for Shinsou to gain his composure- he strode off into the bedroom down the hall, leaving the purple haired man on his own.

The former hostage used the solitude as an opportunity to slowly push himself to his feet, putting his entire weight on the wall behind him. He felt beads of sweat forming on his brow as he closed his eyes, struggling to regain his breath.

The moment the pace of his heart was starting to slow, it was immediately jolted again by the sound of the front door slamming open. Shinsou's head snapped to the sound of the noise, watching as the Caretaker strode through, wearing the same medical mask as before. The hooded man's fists were clenched, mumbling something under his breath as he shook his head. He barely paid any mind to the purple haired man, not even noticing his extremely distressed condition as he brushed past him and stomped down the hallway.

Just as he approached the bedroom, the door swung open and revealed Jackrabbit, his wardrobe changed to something more conspicuous: a pair of khaki shorts and a t-shirt that read "tuxedo" on it in katakana. Jackrabbit wordlessly held a duffle bag out, which the Caretaker snatched from his hands. He paused for a moment, before looking down at the floor and turning to head to the door.

"Make sure you get to bed when you can." He ordered the assassin, not even casting a glance at the other inhabitant before storming out the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

The green haired man simply stared back, watching the entire thing unfold. Eventually, he made his way back to the living room, heading for the door.

"...Why didn't you say anything to him?" Shinsou abruptly called out, a hand instinctively slamming over his mouth as if to retroactively stop the words from coming out.

"There wasn't any reason for me to, why would I?" He shrugged, stating his answer as if it was obvious. He turned to face the door.

"Wait!" The vigilante replied, causing Jackrabbit to immediately pause mid-step. He spun on his heel, facing his unwilling roommate.

"What do you want?"

"I just... I don't understand." He sighed, pressing his back further into the wall. "What did you mean, 'you woke up'?"

"...I'm not supposed to be here. You did something to change that... but you don't know, do you?" He paused. "...Is that your Defect?"

"...Defect?"

"Yes, Defect. They've become the backbone of your society. They're the reason this world is falling into decay."

"I don't..." He looked down, struggling to find an answer for the cryptic question he was given. "I... Wait... You mean Quirks?"

"Is that what you call them?" He asked, his tone sounding almost uninterested.

"Like... people being able to fly, or control water... or make others inebriated..." He trailed off, digging the nail of his thumb into his palm.

"Yes, those things. Those are Defects. Their only purpose is to sow evil into the world."

"I'm not- They're not like that!" Shinsou gritted his teeth, gaze sharpening at the blithe assassin in front of him.

"That's what they are-"

"I'm ordering you: Call them Quirks from now on!"

Jackrabbit's words died in his mouth, silently staring back at the man in front of him.

"...As you command." He definitively stated.

The vigilante pursed his lips, his glare sharpening as he got a better grasp of the situation. While he couldn't escape the incessant churning of his stomach, he managed to establish a few things- namely, that this _thing_ was able to talk now, and he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. He held a position of authority over this assassin, and if he was to figure out just what he was in, he would need to find out everything he could.

"Why did you call them Defects?"

Jackrabbit's back stiffened, as if some kind of righteous indignation came over him. "They're just pale mockeries of the Blessings those like me have received. These... Quirks... are nothing more than the result of humanity languishing. If that's the only question you have, I have other duties to attend to right now. The Caretaker has ordered me to sleep."

Shinsou paused, weighing his options. It was true that he couldn't predict if he had a chance to speak again with this... whoever this was. But pressing his luck could be even riskier. He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose as he tried to judge the situation. But his mind was still muddled with all the events of the past 30 minutes. He realized that the state of his mind alone showed he wasn't fit to force this thing to stay as long as he wanted.

"Fine. Just one more question for you, then you can go." He paused, trying to stave off the defeated tone of his voice. "What is your name?"

The green haired killer paused for a moment, before responding. "I wasn't given a name. I don't need one."

"...Then call yourself Jackrabbit." Shinsou immediately batted back. "You need to call yourself something."

"I don't understand what you mean." He replied, turning the handle of the doorknob. "...But I'll do as you command."

The moment Jackrabbit closed the door behind him, Shinsou felt his legs give out from under him, sending him crashing back to the floor that he found himself on. He clutched his head, hair trenched between his fingers as he felt delirium take over once more. He closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slip away, replacing itself with a serene nothingness.

He knew he would have to organize his thoughts eventually, but now... now was not the time. He could barely keep a grasp on reality, and nothing in the waking world would help with that right now. The vigilante felt his extremities grow numb as he felt the floor sway beneath him, and it wasn't long before he was whisked away into the world of the unconscious.

The last thing he thought was that this was the second time in a week that he fell asleep on a cold, hard floor when a soft bed wasn't too far away.

At least it was better than the chair the Yakuza gave him, he conceded.

* * *

Tsukauchi fluffed the collar of his trench coat as he sauntered down the halls of the precinct. His eyes were locked into a fierce gaze, a spark of fire building underneath the irises that warned all those around him to disengage and get out of his way. He could feel his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as his fists clenched, his knuckles a pale white as they peeked out of the cuffs of his sleeves.

He didn't bother to stop for coffee, his heart was beating fast enough. He felt his mouth shift uncomfortably as a mixture of frustration and rage blew through his brain. If one leaned in closely enough, they could hear the gears in his head clacking together, spinning so furiously that they groaned and sparked... He had a lead just on the cusp of his brain, but now he had to figure out a way to extract it from that wretched man-

_"Detective Tsukauchi!"_ A booming voice barked behind him, causing his shoulders to seize as he stopped in his tracks. The detective turned to face the stern, dog-faced gaze of his direct superior.

"Chief Tsuragamae." He tersely called back, not moving from his spot in the middle of the hallway. The air felt as if it was rapidly thickening, with the rest of the traffic stopped as the officers and lieutenants quietly stared at the duo.

"Office. Now." The police chief waved his hand, retreating back into his private room as he beckoned his subordinate to follow. The detective strode past the crowd, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him.

"I've noticed you've been avoiding me more than usual, _woof._" He noted, crossing his arms as he quietly lowered himself into the leather chair behind his desk. "Is there something you should be telling me?"

"Nothing to report, sir." Tsukauchi quickly rebutted, keeping a hand on the door handle. "We're still in the process of gathering leads. It's progressing slowly."

"Is that so?" The Chief cocked his head to the side, staring intently at the other occupant of the room. "Do ace detectives try to forge approval slips to visit Tartarus because they feel like it, then? You're lucky I didn't tell the prison staff to detain you when they called in to verify the paperwork I allegedly signed. Take a seat."

The detective's face hardened as he slowly let go of the door, moving to one of the wooden chairs placed directly in front of his superior's desk. As he sat down, he saw Tsuragamae slightly settle back further into his own.

The Chief of Police shook his head. "Why would you do that?"

"Would you have let me go there if I asked?"

"Of course not!" He slammed his fist on the desk, the unbridled anger bursting out of his throat. "There's only one person there that you would have any reason to speak with- That... monster- He would only use you for his own personal ends, you can't trust anything he has to say! And for goodness' sake, you decided to go on the day before _All Might Day-_"

"I don't care _what_ day it is!" Tsukauchi bit back, jerking his splayed palms around emphatically. "Right now we've got next to nothing on this killer- we can't keep going to mass murder scenes and pick up the scraps that the cleaners leave behind!"

Tsuragamae sighed, closing his eyes as he shook his head. "I hate to see you behave like this. Don't act like this isn't affecting you, we both know it is."

The two of them sat in silence, neither of them looking at each other. This went on for several minutes, before the Chief finally decided to speak up.

"Did you at least get anything useful out of All for One?"

"...He managed to describe our killer fairly accurately."

The dog-faced police officer snapped his head to face his subordinate, eyes wide in complete shock. "What?!"

"He said he is willing to divulge what he knows, but he wants something in exchange."

"We're not giving him special privileges, _woof_." Tsuragamae huffed definitively. "That bastard can rot in hell for all I care-"

"He just wants to speak with Katsuki Bakugou. Nothing more."

"Ground Zero? Ah... I see." He rapped the tips of his fingers against the arm of his chair. "It figures. Gloating over you isn't enough for him."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The detective looked back, staring back at his superior.

"...Apologies, I was only thinking out loud. Speaking of, how have things been with him?"

"He's exactly as I imagined he would be. Foul-mouthed and impulsive... but he's caught on quickly. If he can keep himself in check, he's got a lot of potential."

"And his... outbursts?"

"Not so much as a single spark."

"That's rather surprising, it's far different from the brash young man I remember, _woof_."

"Well, I don't think he's doing it in a healthy manner." Tsukauchi crossed his arms as he leaned slightly forward, gaze planted on his feet. "I've seen him flinch when he gets angry. It's barely subtle, but... it's there. I think he's genuinely scared of his quirk."

"I see... is this because of the incident?"

"Yeah... that's my guess. I don't think I can really blame him, though. And knowing him... the fact that he only got off with administrative leave as punishment probably made it worse for him."

"Do you think he'll be willing to speak with All for One?"

"There's only one way to find out." The detective sighed pushing himself to his feet. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss with me?"

"No. If Bakugou agrees to speak with him, I'll allow it." He paused. "...Tsukauchi, is there anything else you're not telling me?"

He shook his head, looking his superior straight in the eye. "No. That was all."

"...Very well, you may go."

Tsukauchi bowed to his superior before turning heel and marching out of the room. The instant the door opened, those lingering in the hall instantly startled to life, scattering in different directions to avoid prolonged contact with the antagonizing detective.

He sighed, the heels of his shoes clicking against the harsh tile as he marched back to his office. It wasn't hard to feel the sting of people staring at his back; he clenched his teeth behind his closed lips, reaching his hand in his pocket to brush his fingers against the clammy plastic casing of Rappa's recovered burner phone.

When he arrived back at his office, it was just as empty as usual, save for the brooding countenance of Bakugou Katsuki. Much to the detective's surprise, he was immersed in case files, his face buried in a report and only his bright, platinum blonde hair peeking from over the brim of the reports in the folder he balanced between his fingertips. As the door clicked shut, he snapped the files closed, fiery red eyes staring passively at his superior.

"You're late." He snidely remarked. "Did you get hungover or something?"

"I haven't drunk anything in years." Tsukauchi answered humorlessly. A slight rise in tone told the pro hero that he hit a very sore spot. "I can reinstate your administrative leave whenever I like, so I'd suggest you show a little bit of forethought before you say something stupid like that again."

The immediate hostile reaction caught Bakugou off guard, knocking him into silence. He jerked his head away, clicking his tongue as he settled himself back into the reports in his hand.

"Whatever," he sighed under his breath. "so are we just going to read this shit or do you want me to just wander around this place again?"

"No, no..." Tsukauchi shook his head. "You were lucky last time. Originally, I was under the impression Jackrabbit would stay in Kabukicho... that isn't the case anymore. And there's no chance we'd be able to scour for him through even just Ikebukuro, let alone the rest of Tokyo."

"What then? We don't have any other leads."

"Well... we do, actually." The detective paused, clenching his fists in his pockets. "Bakugou... I need you to put the report down for a second.

The pro hero huffed in mild exasperation, tossing the amber brown folder haphazardly on the table. He leaned forward, pursing his lips as he stared his superior down.

"You mentioned that he may have more than one quirk. You know who that points to, don't you?"

The blonde man didn't verbally respond, but the intense furrowing of his eyebrows and the drastic darkening of his irises confirmed the answer to the detective.

"...I went to Tartarus to speak with him. He knows who this is, and he's willing to give us what he knows."

"...but?" Bakugou interjected, his voice lowering almost to a growl.

"...You're the one he wants to talk to. He won't give us the info unless it's you."

They both unwaveringly stared at each other, neither of them so much as moving a single centimeter as they did their best to put up a strong front for the other. The air between them was tense, so much so that it felt like a single misstep would set the world on fire. Tsukauchi could feel the intense gaze of his subordinate burning a hole into him, but he refused to back down, his own determination manifesting in a stone cold, dutiful expression.

Neither of them were sure how long it was that they would remain like that, but it was eventually broken by the pro hero. He stood up, blinking slowly as he pushed his chair back.

"I'm going for a smoke break." He muttered, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket. He re-centered his gaze on the detective, almost challenging him to keep him there.

"And when will you be back?" Tsukauchi coldly asked.

"When I feel like it." He bit back.

It wasn't long before Tsukauchi relented. He nodded his head in the direction of the door, silently giving the other person permission to leave. Bakugou slowly walked to the door, roughly brushing against the detective's shoulder on the way out. He remained there, unmoving, as he heard the door open and slam shut behind him.

The detective's shoulders slumped as he was left alone in the room, sighing in exhaustion as he fell into the flimsy chair behind his desk. He nestled his face in his hands, closing his eyes as he tried to gather his own thoughts.

A part of his brain was yelling at him that he didn't take a hard enough stance, or that he shouldn't have been as acquiescent in letting him leave, but... there was no way he'd be able to force Bakugou to talk to one of the vilest men in the world. Not after that fight... even he could barely stand to speak with him, he couldn't imagine how his subordinate could feel after everything he was put through.

He breathed in, collecting himself as he lifted his head up.

No, he thought. Strictly speaking, Bakugou was impulsive, but he's also exhibited a great deal of rationality since they began working with each other. He knew the pro hero was probably _seething_ right now, but... once he calmed down, it's almost certain that he'd agree this would be the best route forward.

He just had to wait for the right time.

* * *

Another shift at Takamagahara, greeting customers with a smile and filling their orders out.

Izuku was almost completely operating on auto-pilot, doing his best to maintain his cheerful disposition while he worked the machines. It wasn't a particularly intensive process- his gaiety was a reflexive action.

He briefly flashed back to his interview with the owner, a rather uptight looking woman with a tailored suit- she had introduced herself as Ameno Minaka. He could feel his body tremble as her burning yellow eyes pierced his body, exacerbated by the horrible stuttering he choked out as he did his best to answer her questions. Once the questions were over, he recalled sitting there in a dreadful silence as she stared him down for a couple of minutes. Eventually, she broke the gaze as she pushed the thin framed glasses from the edge of her nose up to the bridge.

"Normally I wouldn't hire someone with zero experience, seeing as we _are_ a specialty coffee shop," She noted bluntly, causing her applicant to practically jump out of his skin, "but I'll make an exception in your case. You've practically got that smile painted onto your face, and honestly even I wouldn't hesitate to buy something I can make for free if you asked."

Izuku felt his mind drag itself back to the present, as he mindlessly packed another portafilter. She was probably right... even on the days he felt his worst, he could feel his smile yank at the corners of his mouth, the small wrinkles on the outer edges of his eyes slightly deepening as he cheerfully welcomed the next round of guests through the door.

He let out a small sigh as he served the last customer in the line and sent them on their way. At least he was good at this, that had to count for at least _something_.

"O-oh, uh... Hey." A familiar voice weakly came from the front of the counter. The barista immediately recognized it; all of his subconscious movements ground to a screeching halt as he froze in place, the bag of coffee beans in his hands almost spilling out as he scrunched it tightly. He spun around to see Yuuki, hands just barely gripping the edge of the work surface as he stared at a spot on the floor near the place Izuku was standing. His face was flush, a small tinge of red coloring his cheekbones as he hunched his shoulders in embarrassment.

It took a second for the green-haired man to process the words being muttered at him. He shook his head, feeling his lips quiver up into a brighter grin as he slowly approached the acquaintance he left on an awkward note just the day before.

"Welcome... Welcome back!" He nervously chirped out, doing his best not to clutch his churning stomach as he felt his eyes wander around the room, looking at anything but the vampiric looking man in front of him.

They both stood in a tense silence, the only noise outside of the din of the shop being their nervous sighs and choked half-syllables they grunted at each other.

"I'm sorry-" They blurted out simultaneously at each other, cutting themselves off as they physically recoiled and slapped a hand over their own mouths. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and frightened, as if they were expecting the other to attack.

"I- uh... I'm sorry." Yuuki murmured between his fingers. "About the library. I just wanted to say that."

"N-No, I-" Izuku stuttered, slamming his hands on the countertop with a bit more force than he anticipated. "...I should be the one apologizing. I blew things out of proportion."

The vampiric looking man shook his head, pursing his lips. "No, I probably would have done the same. It's... It's no big deal."

The barista looked down, feeling his smile twist and contort as he thought about what he was told. It was true, this person appeared to have a lot of parallels to him... just as quirkless as he was, and probably bullied throughout his upbringing. It was unfortunately common... and in the grand scope of things his own experiences probably didn't deviate that far from the norm. His reaction to tear out the pages of his own notebook were probably as justified as his own.

"Do you want to try again?" Izuku asked. Just as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened as he slammed his hands over his mouth. His mind revved into overdrive, a million different voices in his head crying in anxious fear over dropping a question like that on someone who had _just_ had a terrible experience the last time they met.

"I- u-uh... Oh!" The question genuinely caught Yuuki off guard, his mouth falling agape to reveal the set of fangs that peeked out just over the brim of his lips. He fidgeted for a brief moment, before covering his mouth as he looked away. His cheeks burned brightly as he stared at the pristine tile floor.

"I-I... Yeah... I think we could... you know, do that." He replied, his voice muffled by his hand. "Would... ah- would tomorrow work for you?"

The barista looked over at the shift calendar on the wall, seeing what his hours were. He felt a ball of ice build in his stomach as he saw the words emblazoned on the next day's space- "ALL MIGHT REMEMBRANCE DAY."

He felt his legs go weak as the realization hit him. He had the day off- he had requested it months ago, and his boss was more than happy to approve the vacation time- but it was for his own mental wellbeing than anything else. The parades, the celebrations, the ceaseless amount of chatting about how amazing the deceased pro hero was... he couldn't take it. Not when it was his fault-

His hand instinctively rose to his chest, clutching at his heart and crumpling the dress shirt he wore as part of his uniform. This reaction was not lost on Yuuki, whose nervous expression morphed into that of concern.

"...Should... should we try sometime later-"

"No!" Izuku cut him off, his tone sounding a lot harsher than he meant to. He winced at the gut reaction, shaking his head to try to gain some semblance of clear thought. The world was going to celebrate the passing of All Might, and nothing he was going to do would stop it. Someone was offering to spend their time with him, and he felt he didn't have the right to refuse their request. "...Sorry. No, we can do something tomorrow."

"O-okay, cool!" Yuuki replied, still taken aback by the inconsistent reactions of the barista. "What would you like to do?"

The barista was internally screaming, unsure of whether or not he was arranging a meet-up or trying to convince a cornered squirrel not to bolt with his plainly erratic behavior.

"I- uh... I don't... W-why don't you stop... by my place and... we can f-figure out... where to go?" He stammered, ending the question on a tone that sounded like he was unsure if that's what he actually wanted to say.

Yuuki's eyes widened, his face turning a darker shade of red at the suggestion. "U-uh... yeah... we can- W-We can do that!"

The two of them sighed in relief as the awkward negotiations came to an end, settling on a plan of action. Before either of them could continue the conversation, the tinny chime on the door rang out to announce some new entrants, a group of six police officers all energetically chatting with each other as they approached the counter. The young vampiric man quickly turned and refocused his attention back on the barista, covering his mouth as he smiled.

"Y-you can text me your address, right? I've gotta go for now, but I'm looking forward to it!"

Izuku barely got a nod in before Yuuki turned and practically bolted out of the door, sidestepping the cops as he disappeared into the streets.

As the policemen approached the counter, he could feel his defensive smile immediately rise to the surface as he cheerfully greeted the cops as he took their orders.

The smile he wore was, as always, not as sincere as it looked, but at least for now he found it easier to don than normal.

* * *

When Bakugou was actively working as a pro hero, he did what he could to stay out of his home as much as possible. Whether it was behind the desk or (preferably) on the streets, he made it a point to stay on the job as long as he could. Most nights, he could be found sleeping at the office's bunk barracks if there was an empty bed, or at his desk if there wasn't. The only time he was ever at his apartment was when he needed a change of clothing.

One look at his apartment would be enough to understand why- it was a small, run down studio apartment deep in an alleyway in Sanya. The exterior and surrounding areas were relatively clean- but the woefully underlit, aged plastic signs and the plethora of long-foreclosed shops belied the history of a town that was losing its vitality over time.

The pro hero stomped up the half-rusted, exterior metal staircase that led up to the floor where his domicile lay. The hollow aluminum door creaked on its hinges as it opened, the soft light illuminating the inside of his only room; the walls were a crude off-white, specks of grime permanently fused into the material. A damp smell permeated the floor, a disgusting scent that lingered on his body- he made it a point to visit the bathhouse as often as he could to dissuade it from attaching itself to him. The roof itself was covered in yellow splotches, testaments to the multiple times he and the previous residents relieved their stress by chain smoking a pack of cigarettes.

This time was no different. He reached into his pocket, producing a blue and purple pack of Mevius. He flipped the carton open with his thumb, crunching the box as he pulled one out and placed it between his lips. He slid his fingers from the butt of the cig down to the tip, resting it between his thumb and index finger. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose as he felt his fingertips twitch in place. It would take no effort at all, just a simple spark-

He sighed, opening his eyes as he lowered his hand. He dug through his pockets a second time, producing a dingy silver Zippo lighter. He flicked it open with little fanfare, using the small flame inside to ignite the end of the tobacco. He jerked his wrist, the momentum causing the lid to swing on its hinge and slam shut with a satisfying _clunk_, starving the flame of its oxygen and extinguishing the lighter. He briefly stared at the side of the casing, scowling as he read the phrase engraved into the lackluster metal.

_"The most precious things cannot be seen."_ It read, in an almost mocking tone. He sighed, dropping the item back into his pants pocket. He inhaled momentarily before blowing the drag of smoke out of the side of his mouth, watching with disdain as the foul-smelling plume rose into the air to soak into the ceiling tiles.

He furrowed his brow, taking another drag as he turned to look at his apartment. The futon lay in a crumpled pile, shoved into a corner. There was a small pillow casually tossed aside, which was really the only other piece of furniture in the room. The corner opposite of his "bed" had a small countertop with a sink, a small minifridge perched on the far end.

The only item of note in the kitchen area was a set of whisky glasses and a decanter. It was the only item seemingly untouched by the filth of his living quarters, the small bits of light streaking into the grimy window twinkling against the goldish rim of the drinking set.

His mind immediately flashed back to the time he received this gift. The manager of the office had presented them as a gift for joining the municipal department in Yanaka, one of the neighboring historical districts. He had boasted that he had taken this position because "He was better than those annoying private hero offices," which he assume was interpreted by his boss that he had turned them down for a much lower paying public position, and not because he had not received a single request from a larger agency and this appeared to be the only position willing to take him. He was profusely thanked for his generosity and austerity, the glass set meant for "drinking to our future successes, now that they finally have the legacy of a Yuuei student behind their public image."

The sound of something shattering against the wall snapped Bakugou back to reality. The cigarette filter was crunched between his teeth, flooding his tongue with a bitter taste. His shoulder was hunched over, arm slowly swaying to the side. It took him a second to realize what exactly just happened- he had grabbed one of the glasses, spun around and chucked it to the wall behind him. It left a noticeable size dent in the wall, accentuated by the shards of glass nestled on the floor beneath the point of impact.

A dead rage sat in the core of his chest, twisting his heart in a coil that threatened to suffocate him. He felt his hands tremble as he clutched his chest, shakily exhaling as he felt his legs wobble beneath him. He leaned back, placing a hand against the counter, feeling it creak under him as he shifted as much of his weight as he could onto it.

It wasn't long before there was a hard rap on the other side of his door. He sighed, shaking his head as he spat out his half smoked cigarette into the sink. He pushed himself to his feet again, lightly smacking himself on his cheek as he scowled.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya!" He called out, his gruff voice aggravated by the throat irritation caused from the smoking. "It was an accident, okay? You know what a fucking _accident _is, right-"

The words died in his throat as he swung the door open, revealing the last thing he expected to see. A man clad in a teal biker helmet and purple sleeveless puffer jacket stared back at him, visor obscuring any ability to discern his facial features. They both stared wordlessly at each other for a while, both seemingly unsure how to greet the other. The visitor eventually raised his hands, carrying a single glass that looked exactly like the one the pro hero had just smashed.

"I picked this up on the way here." He began, his deadpan tone giving away no emotion whatsoever. "I take it from the noise that you'll need this?"

Bakugou stared down at the glass, then back up at his unfortunate acquaintance.

"What, you some kind of psychic, too?"

"Not quite. It's not something I can explain." He replied, moving his hands up slightly as he gestured for the blonde to take the gift. "Please take the glass. We need to talk."

With a somewhat bewildered glare, Bakugou snatched the glass from the man's hands, shuffling over to the counter to place it in the spot the original was in. He turned back to his guest, who had not bothered to move himself from beyond the door frame.

"So are you going to come in, or what?"

The Biker cocked his head to the side. "Would you rather we go somewhere else?"

The pro hero paused, furrowing the brow as he processed the question. Literally any place was better than this shithole, he reasoned, there wasn't any real reason to turn the request down. Besides, his disdain for his own home was probably clear to anyone who saw the squalor he lived in.

"Fine. There's a Matsuya down the street. Should be open for a few hours. That good with you?"

The neon clad man took a step back, gesturing towards the stairwell.

"Lead the way."

It didn't take long for them to walk to the fast food restaurant. The Biker declined to order anything, opting to sit down at one of the small tables wedged in the back. Bakugou shoved a 500 yen coin into the ticket machine, ordering a spicy kimchi gyudon, before taking the seat opposite of the stranger. Both sat in awkward silence as they waited for the food to arrive, not wanting to discuss anything in front of any potential eavesdroppers. It wasn't long before the server strode to the table, thanking them for waiting as he presented them with the beef bowl and a complimentary miso soup bowl. As soon as the server disappeared to the back of the kitchen, leaving them free to speak in the otherwise empty restaurant.

"You don't wish to speak with All for One." The Biker bluntly stated, causing the pro hero to immediately freeze up.

"How did you know that?" He bit back, folding his arms across his chest.

"How I know doesn't matter, it wouldn't make sense to you anyway." The other man shook his head, rapping his index finger on the polished table surface. "Why won't you speak with him?"

"What, your ESP not giving you the obvious answer?" Bakugou grunted, biting his tongue. "Of course I don't want to talk with him. That bastard ruined _everything_, and now he wants to talk with me? _Fuck_ that. I refuse."

"Are you sure that's the wisest choice?"

"Wise?! He destroyed heroes for fun! My career ended before it fucking _started_ because of him! And All Might- he..." The pro hero trailed off, looking back up towards The Biker with a hate filled glower. "On the day before All Might Day of all times, too. I don't care what that piece of shit wants, he can rot for all I care."

"I see." He replied. The stranger silently stared at the blonde, his thoughts completely unclear behind his helmet.

"Is that it?" He sneered. "You called me out here for a reason, and all you're gonna do is ask why I'm not speaking with some freak-"

"Millions will die." The Biker cut him off.

"...The fuck did you just say?" Bakugou intoned, his scowl deepening as he felt the color drain from his face.

"If you refuse to speak with All for One, then your quest to stop the killer will be forever stalled. Millions will die if that happens."

"And you expect me to believe you?"

"If I could make you believe me, I would have done it already. I am simply telling you what I know."

The purely rational part of Bakugou's brain rejected this claim outright. But... something stirred inside him, a sensation that was hard to describe brought on by the assertion this stranger made. It was as if he was being told a kind of universal truth, something with so much certainty that he could feel its weight in the pit of his stomach. He had never experienced anything like this before.

"You saw through the killer's abilities." The Biker added. "That shows that you're inextricably linked to him, whether you like it or not. And I believe I was meant to witness the two of you reuniting."

"Reuniting?" The pro hero repeated, his tone significantly de-escalated. "Explain."

"You can't just see through something like that, they're not... they're not something that can be counteracted like that." He paused. "The reason you noticed him is because he means something to you. I don't know the specifics, but... he had to be significant to you somehow."

Bakugou ground his teeth, glaring at the table as he considered what he was told. He couldn't deny that upon reflection, there seemed to be just the vaguest sense of dread and nostalgia that passed through his chest as he watched Jackrabbit part the crowd, everyone seemingly blocking his presence out as they went about their nightlife. But whoever that could be... it wasn't coming to him.

The Biker watched as the pro hero sat there, staring at his reflection in the polished table's sheen as he considered what he was told. He eventually pushed himself out of the chair, standing to the side of the table.

"It's time I take my leave." He announced to the other occupant of the restaurant. "I wish I could be more substantive, but... I hope what I gave you was enough to make the right choice. Enjoy your meal."

By the time Bakugou looked up, the mysterious visitor was already gone.

* * *

Shinsou stood in front of the exit, hands limply hanging by his hips as he stared at the silvery doorknob. It was one simple action between him and freedom, all he had to do was reach out and turn the handle...

He gulped, blinking rapidly as beads of sweat formed on his brow. He wasn't being held hostage- the Caretaker had emphasized that many times already. He could leave all this behind, find some cheap place to hide out as he tried to gather what remained of his life, eking out some form of normalcy...

As long as the Yakuza weren't looking out for him, that is.

He did his best to calm his nerves. No, he had to make a decision one way or another. And he couldn't accept being isolated from the outside world any longer.

He slowly reached up, fingers lightly pressing against the cold metallic surface. He paused, closing his eyes to muster up as much courage as he could-

And then immediately yelped as he felt the knob swivel under his grasp. He stumbled back, landing on his already sore behind as he tripped over himself. The door swung open, and the former vigilante was greeted with the deadened expression of his green haired savior-captor, who stood in the frame as he wordlessly stared down at the embarrassed purple haired young adult.

Jackrabbit broke the gaze, stepping inside as he closed the door behind him. Throwing his duffel bag to the side, he stepped forward and grabbed Shinsou by the underside of his arm, smoothly pulling him up to his feet.

Shinsou was somewhat surprised by the gesture- not just the act itself but with the strange gentleness in which it was carried out. The killer showed a great deal of strength, practically lifting him with no more effort than a puppet on strings. But despite that, it wasn't rough; he practically couldn't feel the grip on his arm, and the possibility of it leaving a bruise seemed completely out of the question.

The former vigilante snapped his head to the side, his veins flooding with a sense of fear and dread as the cold, stony eyes of the other denizen of the apartment pierced his. He gulped, his mind screaming at him to say something but not providing him the ability to do so.

"I... Thanks... I think."

He swore he saw the slightest of flashes of emotion in Jackrabbit's face- was it confusion... frustration... maybe both? For all he knew it was his own mind playing tricks on him.

The assassin didn't respond, simply turning to pick his bag back up and proceed down the hallway.

"Wait-" Shinsou called out, the order forcing Jackrabbit to immediately halt. "-You _did_ speak this morning, right? I didn't imagine it?"

The other person paused, turning his head only slightly to look at him from over his shoulder.

"Of course I did. You were the one who woke me up."

His response brought a mix of relief and dread as he recalled the strange sensation he experienced while diving into his roommate's mind. That psychological explosion amidst the cold void- was that he was referring to?

"Explain what you mean by 'waking you up.'" Shinsou commanded, his curiosity temporarily fueling his bravery.

"It's exactly what I meant." He replied, leaving the door open as he stepped into the bedroom. "Certain subsystems are needed to keep this body functioning, but they don't need to be active. Somehow you aroused them and woke me up. I don't need to explain it further."

Shinsou slowly stepped down the hallway. He pressed his shoulder into the wall next to the bedroom door frame, leaning in to peer into the living quarters. He was greeted with the sight of this person, facing away from him and shirtless, clad in the green pants and red shoes of his signature outfit. Despite his thin frame, he exhibited an almost unnatural musculature, his arms and back practically rippling with strength as he slipped into the top of his jumpsuit. He pulled out the varsity jacket from his bag, swinging it around his body as he thrust his arms through the sleeves. He produced the final two pieces of his attire- he splayed his fingers as he put on his pristinely white gloves, but his hood he left off, the muzzle and cloth hanging limply from his hands as he turned to look back at the person watching him.

Shinsou quickly pushed himself back, another jolt of fear surging through him as he quickly retreated back into the living room, quickly placing himself on the couch. It wasn't long before Jackrabbit exited the bedroom, staring at the other man from across the hallway.

Feeling a rising sense of dread in his stomach, the former vigilante quickly found a new line of discussion.

"Does the Caretaker get the supplies you need? I've been needing to get some things."

"No. I get what I need myself. The people of Japan are more than happy to provide for me." He replied. "You could do the same."

"N-No." Shinsou replied, taken aback by the unexpected response. "I can't just leave, there's... people looking for me. The same people you rescued me from. Can't you get something for me?"

"I don't know what you want."

The former vigilante slammed his eyes shut, clenching his fists as his head lowered. True, he could give him a list, but it wasn't likely that something not quite human who gained consciousness the same day would be able to get it right. And plus, if he was able to help out...

He bit his tongue, feeling his heart race as he raised his voice once again.

"Then... take me with you!" He commanded. "And do whatever you can to keep me out of trouble while we're out."

"...Very well." Jackrabbit monotonously acknowledged the order, grabbing the mask by the elastic rim as he pulled his over his dense mop of green hair. He pulled it taut against his neck, the seam practically disappearing into the rest of the jumpsuit. He pressed his fingers against the muzzle, clicking it against his mouth as it nestled snugly onto the bridge of his nose.

Before Shinsou could respond, the killer strode over and grabbed his hand, firmly pulling him from the chair as they walked to the door.

"Don't let go of my hand." The costumed man warned, turning the handle to the exit. "As long as we're like this, you'll be protected."

The former vigilante didn't quite understand, but nevertheless nodded in affirmation. He felt his heart racing as the door swung open before him, the afternoon light shimmering out, causing him to wince slightly at the sudden uptick in brightness. He wasn't given time to adjust; the other person insistently dragged him out into the open world, causing him to briefly stumble as they went out into the world outside the apartment.

As soon as his eyes adjusted, Shinsou was greeted to the sight of tightly packed homes, some so dense that they almost seemed stacked on top of each other. The road they were on was incredibly narrow, roughly three people wide- and even then, some of that space was taken up by parked bikes or store signs. Posters were plastered on practically any publicly owned surface, ranging from public notices to upcoming events.

"...Are we in Sangenjaya?" He asked, looking expectantly at Jackrabbit.

"Where are you looking to go?" The other man responded, not bothering to answer the question.

"Ah- yeah." Shinsou gritted his teeth, struggling to find any kind of pace to the conversation. "I need to find a tech store. I need a laptop; do you know if there's a place selling them nearby?"

"...There's a small shop a few blocks from here." Jackrabbit replied. "I found it while canvassing the area for weapons."

"...I see." The purple haired man weakly replied, reminded yet again of the multiple times he saw his guide drenched in blood. "I don't have any money to buy one, though. I can-"

"That won't be a concern."

The former vigilante was confused by the reassurance. He was about to suggest he would use his quirk, but it seemed that the person leading him by the hand had plans of his own.

It was then that Shinsou noticed something about the crowds surrounding the duo- or rather, the lack thereof. The people approaching them almost instinctively moved out of the way for them, not even sparing them a look or breaking their conversations as they passed them by.

"I take it this is why you wanted me to hold hands with you? Are you erasing our presence from their minds?"

"You've got it backwards." Jackrabbit replied, not bothering to look back as he guided the purple haired man through the twisted mess of narrow streets and alleyways. "It's one of the many Blessings granted to me- They know who I am. They move out of my way out of respect- and they willingly forget everything about me once they're out of my way."

Before Shinsou could question further, he was cut off as his navigator turned a corner and halted in front of a small store carved out of the underside of a small, multiplex building- the words "Hinode Denki" shining down on them with pristine white lettering.

"We're here." Jackrabbit announced, pulling him insistently to the automatic sliding door. The cashier behind the counter kept his head down, abstaining from the expected formality of cheerfully greeting those who walk into the store. The lack of reaction sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing, leaving him to ponder the description of the assassin's 'Blessing.'

The green-clad man gestured for the one behind him to take the lead, seeing as how he wasn't the one looking for something to buy. The purple haired man took the cue, walking forward to browse the small number of aisles to see if there was a computer he could use. Wedged in the back were a couple of devices- almost all of them were cheap, nearly worthless models, but one of two of them were halfway decent, though the price tag...

"Just take one." The voice from behind him commanded, causing his shoulders to jump slightly as he snatched one of the boxes from the shelves.

"Okay... I got what I needed." Shinsou trailed off, his gaze trailing over to the cashier. "Do we just-"

The words died in his throat as he watched the store clerk tap a number of buttons on the register, before producing a credit card from their wallet and swiping it along the reader. The chime of a successful payment rang through the store, sending the former vigilante's stomach crashing through the floor.

"D-Did he-"

"The people of Japan revere me and will provide for me to further the cause." He cut the purple-haired man off, taking the lead once more as he pulled his compatriot out of the store. "They are more than happy to oblige us."

"...What cause?"

"Is that all?" Jackrabbit asked, once again failing to answer the question asked of him.

"Yeah, I-" He paused, his eyes drifting off to another store in the distance. "Wait- no. We need to go there."

He raised the hand carrying the laptop, pointing the box towards a similarly looking retail location just down the street- "Drugstore Smile."

"What do you need there?"

"Just take me there." Shinsou bit back, a bit of frustration and indignance welling in his voice.

"...Very well." Jackrabbit accepted the order, leading him to the second location.

The former vigilante didn't wait to be asked to take the lead; he passed by the silent store attendants, grabbing a handful of plastic bags on the way in. He hastily shoved the laptop into one of them, allowing him to hang it from his wrist and free up his hand as he walked to the back of the store. A counter stood in the back, manned by a pharmacist who similarly refused to look at the duo.

Shinsou paused for a moment, breathing deeply and gathering his nerves as he climbed the counter, watching as the lab coat wearing woman stepped calmly out of the way as he crossed over to the other side. Jackrabbit silently followed suit, and the two of them slowly made their way through the shelves of drug boxes and bottles as the purple haired man slowly scanned each of their labels.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for- a row of green and white boxes, with a slightly bubbly black text on top. He picked them up, shaking them slightly as if to make sure that they weren't empty. He threw one of the boxes into the bag; he paused for a moment, hand raised and poised to take more of the supply. After a brief moment of consideration, he grabbed three more and hastily tossed them in with the first.

"You're grabbing quite a bit there." Jackrabbit noted, his tone... somehow more ambiguous than before. "What are you taking?"

A flash of indignation swiped across Shinsou's face. "None of your-"

He cut himself off, sighing. "It's called Landsen. Clonazepam. I doubt you know what it's for. I got enough to last myself a while. Let's go."

"...Very well."

The former vigilante felt a coil of guilt wrap around his chest as he crossed the counter and let the killer take him back to the apartment. He knew what he did wasn't right, but... somehow it felt worse than usual.

Maybe it was the amount of it he took, he reasoned with himself. This wasn't the first time that he had absconded with supplies he needed, and certainly not in this fashion. But it was effectively the same as he had to act when he was working as an active agent of justice...

...wasn't it?

It wasn't long before he was navigated back to the apartment. The moment the front door closed behind them, Shinsou let out a loud sigh of relief, letting go of Jackrabbit's hand as he sank to his knees. He didn't realize how overwhelming the stress of going back out into a potentially dangerous community was until he was isolated from it once again.

He turned to face the masked man next to him, slowly getting back to his feet.

"...Thanks." He bit out, leaning back against the arm of the couch for support.

"...I don't understand what that means." Jackrabbit bluntly replied.

"...Right. It means I am grateful for something you did for me."

"Why are you grateful?" The killer cocked his head. "You ordered me to do something for you and I carried it out."

"Well... I'm grateful regardless."

"That's stupid." He bluntly replied. "You may as well thank a fish for swimming."

"Look, I don't know what to tell you." Shinsou sighed, pinching the brow of his nose. "Just say 'You're Welcome.'"

"...very well." Jackrabbit grunted out. "...You're welcome."

"No, I-" The purple haired man groaned in frustration. "That's not what I meant. It wasn't supposed to be an order."

"...I don't understand what you're-"

Jackrabbit's response was cut off by the tinny noise of a cell phone ringtone, echoing from somewhere deeper in the house. His head snapped towards the bedroom, quickly striding over with Shinsou quietly following in morbid curiosity.

The assassin reached into his duffel bag, producing a small, black clamshell device. He flipped it open, pressing the device to his ear.

The former vigilante watched as the other occupant of the room quietly listened to the staticky voice on the other end of the line, whispering something almost unintelligible to him. It wasn't long before he lowered the device from his head, slamming it shut and throwing it back into the bag.

"...What was that?"

"...A follower was captured by the enemy." He replied. "I must go and deal with the matter."

Jackrabbit reached up to grab the tips of his rabbit ears on his hood, pulling them down and flush against his face. He pressed his hands firmly against his mask, removing them seconds later to reveal an entirely new set of features.

His rabbit ears were no longer as such, replaced with a thin pair of antennae that bent sharply and curved over his face. His eyes were now covered with a black pair of lenses, engraved with a repeating hexagonal pattern that caused a scattershot reflection of the light that bounced off of it.

The feature that completed the look was the mandibles that spilled out from the top of the muzzle. They looked almost lifelike, the small wiggling they exhibited from the movement almost perfectly mimicking the pincer motions of the praying mantis that the mask resembled.

Jackrabbit didn't wait around to let Shinsou's awe subside- he roughly pushed past the former vigilante, marching down the hallway and out the door.

The feeling of loneliness settled back into his head, and with it came the onslaught of questions that he had no answers for. None of this made sense, yet the world around him insisted otherwise; there was no rationalization for what just happened.

Shinsou felt his breathing grow erratic as the same feelings of panic set in. He was on the verge of leaving, of finally abandoning this strange circus... but now it felt as if he had just catapulted himself back to square one.

He quickly went back to the living room, scooping up the bags full of items that he had essentially forced others to pay for. He kicked the laptop box under the bed- he'd come back to that later. Right now, the only thing on his mind was the other thing he took, the Landsen. He shakily tore open one of the boxes, pulling out a sheet of individually sealed pills. He hastily peeled the layered paper and aluminum back, pouring two of the white tabs into his hands. He slammed them into his mouth, rushing over to the bathroom sink. He lowered his head into the basin, turning on the faucet to pour tap water directly into his mouth. With that, he swallowed the medication, taking a few extra gulps of water just to ensure that it would go down.

He sighed in relief, a wave of reassurance washing over him as he pulled his head back up, resting his forehead against the mirror as he closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing, clutching the edges of the sink with all his might.

He wasn't safe. Even here, if it weren't the Yakuza, it would be this shadow organization and a mysterious "Avatar" who would probably dispose of him if he became a threat. The benefits of escaping were virtually nil. If anything it was a death sentence. There was never really a choice; he would either die out in the world or become a willing captive to the people trying to kill him.

Shinsou felt his grip on the sink loosen as his heart began to artificially slow its erratic beating. The racing thoughts began to subside in kind, replaced with a sensation that could only be described as a warm fluffy blanket wrapping itself around his brain, slowly suffocating it and lulling it to a peaceful state.

He felt the edges of his lips twitch upwards as he put a little more of his weight on the mirror.

At least... at least he had this for now.

* * *

Bakugou had found himself unable to relax his hands since his conversation with the Biker. His fists ached, the knuckles turning a bare white as he held them in his lap.

It wasn't long ago that he marched back to the precinct, throwing the door to Tsukauchi's office open. He found himself unable to verbally express his decision, but his expression was clear enough that the detective knew what he was thinking.

They wordlessly exited the office, walking to the parking lot where a dimly humming armored personnel carrier waited, ready to take them to the prison. The doors swung open, and a man dressed head to toe in SWAT gear stepped out, gesturing for them to come inside.

The duo followed suit, taking a seat on the cold metal benches that lined the back of the vehicle. On the far end, welded into the center of the wall was a set of heavy duty braces meant to restrain the extremely dangerous criminals, the interior lined with a number of sharp needles meant to ply the prisoner with sedatives and quirk suppressants as they were carried to the facility that they would spend the rest of their lives in.

The vehicle lurched forward, the wheels practically crunching the asphalt beneath them as the heavy duty military equipment was slowly rolled to its destination. Neither the detective nor the pro hero looked at the other, both of them staring off into different corners of the bus as they waited for the trek to end.

Some thirty-odd minutes had passed before Tsukauchi sighed, his piercing yellow eyes turning to look at his subordinate.

"Before you speak to him, I did want to let you know that I appreciate your decision." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "It couldn't have been an easy choice to make."

Bakugou didn't respond, opting to balefully glare at the back door while he clenched the front of his jeans.

The rest of the trip was carried out in a tense silence, neither of them really pushing the other to chit-chat. The air was too heavy between them, feeling so dense that they could practically feel it resisting them as they attempted to breathe it in.

Eventually, the vehicle slowed to a stop, the engine cutting off as the sound of the driver's side door opened and slammed shut. It wasn't long before the back doors opened, a fully armed guard barking at them to step out of the vehicle and follow him further into the complex.

It took almost an hour for the two of them to get through all the security checkpoints before being able to enter the facility proper. Interviews, lie detector tests, fingerprinting, blood samples, iris scanning... it was almost comical how many different ways that they verified his identity.

They were eventually led by a group of guards down the hallway, all of them heavily armed and equipped with automatic rifles. The thuds of their boots echoed across the sterile white tiling that sprawled not just on the floor, but up the walls and ceiling as well. The only thing that broke the monotony were the regularly spaced doors, the thick metal slabs jutting out from the walls, each emblazoned with a large number above it.

They were eventually led to an elevator, its own metal casing twice as thick as the material that lined the cell blocks. The door opened, the gears screeching in pain as it opened to reveal its empty interior.

"The two of you will be down there alone. Should the prisoner attempt to attack or free itself, the machine guns trained on it will engage." He barked out, his visor masking his gaze from the two of them. "Should this happen, you will not fight the prisoner. Back up and wait for the situation to neutralize. We will not disengage the turrets if you cross the line of fire."

Bakugou felt his eyes twitch in anger at the disclaimer he was given.

"Well shit, you're really making me feel safe here." He spat out.

The lead guard shook his head. "Your safety is not our priority, it's the containment of the prisoners. Should there be a choice between letting the prisoner escape or neutralizing both of you, we have been directed to do the latter. If you cannot accept that, feel free to turn around and leave the way you came."

The blunt disregard for his well-being caught him off guard, his mouth hanging open in empty protest as his indignance flared up yet again. He did have half a mind to march himself out of the facility, but... he knew that wouldn't solve anything. The pro hero waved the guard aside, defiantly stomping to the middle of the elevator and folding his arms over his chest. Tsukauchi followed suit.

The guard said nothing further, simply pulling an ID card out of his vest, waving it next to a receiver on the other side of the door. The metal slabs that constituted its doors screeched and slammed to a close, and the two felt their stomachs slightly rise as the machine began its slow descent, travelling deep beneath the ground to the visiting room specially made for their most notorious prisoner.

They weren't given long to get their affairs order. Tsukauchi quietly pulled the brim of his hat down, the shadow only slightly masking his features as they approached their final destination. Bakugou remained motionless, his arms tensed and pressed into his sides as he did his best to keep them from shaking.

Eventually, the elevator stumbled to a halt, the walls creaking as it settled into the bottom of the shaft. The doors screeched open, leading to a single room with no other exits. The walls were lined with the same tiling as before, but the floor here was little more than a large slab of concrete. Two chairs were seated in front of a window that spanned an entire wall, behind which was a similar looking room, albeit with a reinforced metal door instead of an elevator.

The investigators took their seats, both staring forward with harsh gazes as they waited for the villain to make his entrance. Almost immediately, the door behind the glass slid open, revealing the horrid countenance of the monster they came here for.

All for One lay strapped on an iron slab, the bottom of which had been folded inward to act as a rudimentary sort of chair. On top of the straight jacket he was bound in, an assortment of carbon fiber straps lined his body, connecting to a metal harness that kept him firmly still against the cold surface. Connected to its frame were a number of medical bags and tubes, weaving in and out of each other as they snaked around his arms to be embedded under his skin. A breathing mask covered his face, connected to a pump that forcefully shoved oxygen in and out of his lungs.

The wheels on his chair creaked forward, slowly approaching the window that separated the villain from the duo looking to interrogate him. The chair stopped right between the two, causing All for One to look up towards the ceiling and call out.

"Come now, you know I came here for the boy." He turned to face one of the many cameras lining the ceiling of the visitor's room. "You could at least have the decency to put us directly in front of the other."

Almost immediately, the chair swiveled to the side, shifting to the right to place itself firmly in front of Bakugou.

Despite his diminished status as a prisoner, the pro hero couldn't deny the overwhelming presence emanating from the former mastermind. He towered over even Tsukauchi, and his bulky mass had not been reduced in the slightest despite the conditions he was living in. Even now, he wondered if the restraints he was placed in were actually enough to keep him there.

"It certainly has been a while, Bakugou Katsuki." All for One smiled, timing his words with the oxygen pump. "I must admit, I wasn't sure if you would accept my offer. But I can see that fire still burns brightly inside of you. Tell me, was becoming a hero all you wanted and more?"

"I didn't come here to play games with you." The pro hero growled, feeling the bones in his hands creak as they tightened even further. "Just tell us what you know."

His rebuttal was met with a hearty laugh, cut short by the air pump forcing him to choke as it forced him to breathe in. He jolted in his chair, causing the machine guns on his side of the room to snap to attention as he tried to stifle a coughing fit. He eventually recovered, looking back at the blonde man as he waited for the machine to give him another opportunity to speak.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way." He smiled, recovering his threatening charisma. "I am dreadfully bored, and I would love to know what happened to the one who escaped my son's clutches."

"...Being a hero is fine." The pro hero bit his tongue, leaning back in his chair. "Much better than being reduced to a lap dog like your little bitch of a kid."

The villain's smile widened further, baring his teeth to the hero as he breathed in. No doubt he was envisioning a multitude of ways his prodigy would put him in his place.

"You may say what you like, but that is precisely why I wish to provide my insight." He tilted his head, watching as the turrets slightly adjusted their aim to the movement. "I would like to stop that creature before he prevents my son from casting off his shackles. Which office did you go to?"

"Yanaka Municipal."

"Really, now? With your skills?" All for One gleefully asked, making it apparent that he greatly enjoyed the answers to the questions he was asking. "I'm surprised that you chose to work in such a desolate place for heroes. There's no chance you'd ever be able to make a name for yourself there. Are you still working there?"

"...You know the answer to that already." Bakugou muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the deformed man to hear him.

"But it sounds so much_ better_ when it comes from you." The former mastermind insisted. "I've not listened to something so melodic in such a long time."

The pro hero looked down, grinding his teeth as he forced out the answer. "...I'm on leave. I'm working with the police for now."

"Imagine if the public caught wind of that." He replied, his wistful tone carrying his insidious cruelty. "Back on the job just months after the scandal that rocked the nation... tell me, who do you think would have their picture on the news more: You, or Chiaki-"

His line of questioning was cut off as the hero jumped out of his chair, reeling his fist back as he punched the thick glass separating him from the disgusting waste of life in front of him.

"Don't you _dare_ say her name ever again!" He screamed.

The conversation was cut short as klaxons blared throughout the visitor's room. A reinforced metal slate descended from the window, cutting the two groups off from each other as a set of turrets shot out from the walls, the barrels of their guns focused squarely on the suspended hero. Tsukauchi quickly scrambled to his feet, his own chair tumbling behind him as he stepped back and assumed a defensive stance.

"DO NOT ATTACK THE GLASS." A gruff voice bellowed through an unseen intercom system. "ANY FURTHER INTERACTION WILL BE TAKEN AS AN ATTEMPT TO FREE THE PRISONER. WE _WILL_ OPEN FIRE. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING."

The pro hero remained unmoving, fist placed firmly against the glass panel. Tsukauchi quickly stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him back and away from the closed viewport. The jostling snapped him back to reality, just in time for the detective to give him an earful.

"You idiot!" He shouted over the alarm. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

"He just-"

"I _know_, Bakugou! Now sit down!"

The pro hero clutched his hair, stomping in place angrily as he did his best to keep himself from screaming in anger. He turned around, swinging his leg out to kick the chair, sending it flying across the room to crash against the elevator. It smacked the floor with a metallic _clang_, the frame clearly dented from the impact.

"Bakugou-"

"_Shut up!_" He screamed, voice cracking as he clutched his head. "Just shut the fuck up! I can't-"

"Just fucking sit down!" Tsukauchi screamed, the vulgar reaction causing Bakugou to freeze in place. He paused for a moment, before sauntering over to the chair, dragging it back to its original place before collapsing on top of it.

The moment he took his seat, the alarms cut off, and the turrets receded from view.

The detective walked back to his own chair, placing it upright as he took his place. He looked up to the ceiling.

"We're ready to continue." He announced, waiting for the person monitoring them to respond.

The reinforced metal slid back up, once again revealing the visage of All for One. He was trembling in his seat, caught in a laughing fit that was being disrupted by the oxygen pump. Every inhalation was strained and filled with the sounds of heaves and choking, followed by the noise of an uncontrollable giggle as the flow was reversed. Whether he was shaking in joy or extreme pain was beyond the investigative duo's understanding.

Eventually, he calmed himself down, his voice hoarse from the sustained damage it took over the past few minutes. The villain sighed, a raucous pleasure emanating from his words.

"Oh, I do apologize for that outburst, I just couldn't help myself." He sneered, his grin so wide it almost spanned the width of his breathing mask. "Indulging in schadenfreude has always been a weakness of mine."

"...Are you done?" Bakugou monotonously asked, his eyes focused on his hands on his lap.

All for One cleared his throat, sighing as he replied. "Yes, yes, I think that's enough for me. I do appreciate you being such a sport about it. It's always good to be reminded that others are worse off than you are, it tends to put things in perspective. Well, that aside... you wish to know about the killer who is singlehandedly massacring the Yakuza."

"Tell us what you know." Tsukauchi cut in, drawing the former mastermind's attention away from the emotionally depleted hero. "Don't hold anything from us."

"You did what I asked, so I will be an open book for you." He paused, his chair turning to face the detective. "I do not know the name they use to describe themselves. I first encountered them about 80 years ago... at the time I simply called them the Vanguard."

"What are they after?"

"What exactly they want is a mystery to me. From what I gathered while dealing with them, it appears that their operations revolve around a group they revere- 'The First Family.' They believed that someone from this group would save Japan from peril." He stopped, waiting for the breathing machine to allow him to speak again. "However, I was informed that their goals may be far more insidious than that."

Bakugou's ears perked at that line, his eyes slowly rising forward as he listened intently.

"What led you to believe that?" Tsukauchi pressed further.

"I became acquaintances of one who was kidnapped by the Vanguard. A peculiar fellow- she introduced herself as a 'Failure,' and had helped me multiple times to evade their sieges on me. She displayed strange abilities that seem even impossible to be a quirk." He tilted his head, the scabs where his eyes should have been focusing on the detective. "Tell me, have you ever met someone who could sense the future?"

"Sir Nighteye, of course. You should know him well."

"No, I don't mean like that. He could read the mind of someone and extrapolate what their future was. It was incredibly limited and not at all accurate." He shook his head. "I'm referring to someone who was _in touch_ with the future. Almost as if they didn't quite exist in the present."

"What?" Tsukauchi scrunched his eyebrows, giving the villain a look of incredulity. "That doesn't make sense."

"Did..." Bakugou spoke up, not quite looking at the imprisoned man. "...did he have an emblem on him? Five leaves... three flowers, all of it a dark blue?"

"...You-" All for One began, cut off by his breathing machine choking him. He regained his composure quickly. "Apologies, I was so shocked I forgot to time my words. Did I hear what you said correctly?"

"Bakugou, who are you referring to?" Tsukauchi turned, a look of surprise overtaking his features.

"He's the one I met when I first saw Jackrabbit." Bakugou reminded his superior, his eyes glazed over and staring at nothing in particular. "We spoke for a bit and then he left."

"Impressive. Though it appears we spoke to different people. So there is more than one of these 'Failures...'" He trailed off. He turned to face the pro hero once more, a smile overtaking his features. "If I can offer you a word of advice, I would heed whatever they tell you. They will be one of your best allies."

"They call themselves 'Failures;' why, exactly?" Tsukauchi leaned in, pulling out his notepad to scribble something down.

"That was something I could never get explained. Either they were unwilling or unable to tell me, and I had no interest in coercing someone who was so invaluable to me into giving me information that might not be of help. But it does make me wonder... perhaps your Jackrabbit is considered a success?"

"Why didn't you take them out?" Bakugou cut him off, his eyes clear and trained on the deformed man in front of him. "They were constantly going after you, right? What stopped you from returning the favor?"

"They were beyond my abilities." He bluntly replied, the simplicity of the answer catching both of the investigators off guard.

"I've never heard you take that tone before." Tsukauchi shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What did you mean by that?"

All for One sat there, smiling as he stared at the detective. "What's the matter, does it scare you to hear that there are those even more insidious than me?"

"Answer the question." He commanded, fingers tightly grasping his notepad.

"Actually, I don't think I will." He sneered, a small laugh bubbling out of his throat. "I've given you all I know, and you apparently have a resource even more knowledgeable than I on hand. I think it's time you two took your leave."

Tsukauchi sighed, dusting his trench coat off as he stood up. "Fine by me. Let's go, Bakugou."

The pro hero wordlessly stood up, the dented chair wobbling as he took his weight off it. The investigators turned to face the elevators, the door opening for them as they stepped out of the visitor's room.

The subsequent exit and trip home passed in relative silence. Neither Tsukauchi or Bakugou dared to speak a word to each other, the information and antics of the fallen villain driving them into a tense silence.

Eventually, they were dropped off at the precinct, the armored van depositing them off in the parking lot before it returned to the prison it was meant for.

The detective turned to face the pro hero, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find something to say.

"You know..." He trailed off. "If you'd like to take tomorrow off-"

"Don't." Bakugou cut him off, turning to face him. His eyes were brimming with rage, the red irises burning bright as spite spilled from his lips. "Don't you start with me. I'll be here."

"Are you sure? It's All Might Day tomorrow-"

"Did I fucking stutter?!" He yelled, clenching his fists tightly. "I meant what I said!"

Tsukauchi sighed, a look of concern briefly crossing his features before falling back into his default stern gaze. "Alright. I expect you to be here at 8AM, then. You're dismissed for the rest of the day."

The detective watched as the indignant blonde turned and strode out of the premises. He wasn't sure if his subordinate was just putting on a mask or somehow managed to gain some semblance of determination out of that interrogation... the truth was, either one was cause for concern.

Tsukauchi shook his head, sighing in exasperation as he looked up to the sky, the sunset tinting it a warm and cozy reddish-orange.

"Toshinori, you bastard." He whispered to himself, chuckling. "I knew he was going to be a handful, but you could have at least warned me when you asked me to look after him."

* * *

Ginza doesn't sleep. The bright LED signs that pierced through the daylight refused to calm as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; if anything it intensified their glow and cascaded the streets with an assortment of bright neon colors. It bathed its visitors in splashes of purple, yellow, and blue, enticing them to come try out its venues that only opened for those willing to go out this late.

The streets weren't laden with the number of hosts practically forcing passersby into their establishments, at least not as many as those in Shinjuku or Kabukicho. Instead, many of the nightclubs here were almost at capacity, with many of their entrances sprouting a long tail of young adults looking for a fun new juncture.

This was no different for Genius, a well-known dance club nestled between a men's business wear outlet and a mid-tier sushi restaurant. It looked completely inconspicuous from the outside, its high scale doors and innocuous name only betrayed by the flashing lights and soft thuds of the music emanating from the floors above. A cordoned off line spanned down the block, bustling with people looking to just forget everything and have fun for once.

Jackrabbit strode down the street, his eyes trailing across the extensive group of people in front of him. He was carrying a thick plastic bag from a hardware store- his grip tightened as he stopped in the middle of the street, soaking in what details he could find from the building's exterior.

Once he was done with his initial recon, he backed up for just a brief moment, out of the buzzing lights of the district and into the shadows of a narrow alleyway lined with dumpsters and garbage cans.

He crouched against the marble wall, reaching into the bag to produce a number of items: a large plastic bottle of kerosene, two metal thermoses with strap clips, and a box- it featured a power drill set, complete with masonry drill bits and a pre-charged battery pack. He ripped open the container, carefully extracting the tools as he got to work assembling it. He picked the largest spade bit out of the container, sliding into the chamber of the drill. He spun the chuck, watching it slam to a halt as it gripped the bit tightly. He clicked the battery pack into place, pressing the trigger and watching it rev up and spin with a high pitched whine.

He opened both the bottle of kerosene and thermoses, pouring the flammable liquid into the containers, sealing them shut and clipping them to his belt. Once he was done, he scooped up all the packaging and spare parts, placing it back into the plastic bag before dumping the entire waste into one of the nearby dumpsters.

Drill in hand, Jackrabbit strode back out onto the sidewalk, the large electric billboards swathing him in pastels as he sauntered back towards the club. He didn't bother getting in line; he simply walked past the whole ordeal, his presence going completely unknown. He eventually made it to the front- the bouncer focused on the crowd in front of him as he did his best to determine who was old enough to enter. The assassin slipped in between the burly man and the set of stanchions he was guarding, ducking under the velvet red bannister that was meant to be lifted upon entry.

The inside was little more than a well-lit marble staircase and an elevator leading up. The armed man quietly slinked up the steps, the ceiling eventually giving way and opening up into a much larger room than one could expect.

The entire main floor was cast in a deep blue light, so intense that it blocked out almost all other shades of color. The only thing that wasn't changed from Jackrabbit's appearance was his eyes, the black lenses of his mask absorbing almost all the light that dared approach.

The room itself was predictably crowded, people standing shoulder to shoulder as the DJ pumped a heavy synth beat that practically rocked the floor with its intensity. A dense artificial fog permeated the air, accenting the bright lasers that bounced and swung wildly around the room. Dotted sporadically on the arched ceiling were large disco balls, which cascaded a variety of pulsing lights around the pit and the balconies surrounding it.

Jackrabbit scanned the room from his entry point, taking note of anyone that stood out in the venue. It wasn't really hard to see who was one of the "staff." Most of them were standing in front of or next to the entrances to the backrooms, wearing sunglasses that obscured their features. They all appeared to be wearing the same type of outfit- a white three piece suit, striking purple accents clearly marking who worked for the Yakuza and who didn't.

Not all of them were nervously standing guard, however. The assassin did notice that a few dotted the crowd, either flirting with the patrons or having fun in their own wild way. His eyes shifted over to one man in particular, dancing in a way that could almost be described as flailing, his inebriation clearly removing a large portion of his inhibitions.

He breathed in, eyes focusing as he felt his grip tighten on his improvised weapon. He purposefully strode forward, watching as the crowd smoothly parted around him, dancing and oblivious to the hungry killer among them. He walked in a straight line towards his prey, faced away from him and dancing as extravagantly as ever.

He didn't wait to get the man's attention. He lifted his leg up, stomping forward and landing a hit directly on the back of his calf. The sudden force sent the drunken man crashing forward, his nose smacking the hard floor with a sickening _crack._

Jackrabbit was not done, though. He pounced on top of the Yakuza thug's body, holding him down by the neck as he pinned the man's arms with his legs. He placed the drill right on the back of his skull, pulling the trigger and watching the machine do its job.

The spinning spade bit easily broke through the man's skull, his throat only able to eke out a weak yelp as the metal rod broke through, the wide metal head sinking in almost instantly. It was only a matter of seconds before his grey matter was quite literally blended into mush, killing him instantly.

The killer stood up, removing himself from the dead body as he sauntered through, the crowd no longer dividing itself for him. The jumping and hooting dancers crashed into him like a tsunami, but it did little to knock him off guard.

It wasn't long before his handiwork was noticed- a chorus of screams pierced the air, causing most of the audience to stop what they were doing as they tried to find the source of the noise.

All it took was someone to shout, "He's fucking dead!" to send the crowd into a flurry. The sound of terror intensified as the mass of people scattered, all of them rushing to the only exit to the nightclub. It wasn't long before that single staircase became completely clogged, the scores of people jamming themselves into place.

Jackrabbit crouched, his eyes trained on the pair of guards in front of him, obscured by the people moving to the other end of the room, towards the staircase that would lead to safety. He swung one leg behind him, ready to break into a sprint the moment was right. Eventually, the crowd cleared up, and the mantis-faced assassin launched himself forward, grabbing the attention of the pair of Yakuza who had yet to gain their bearings. He pressed down on the trigger once again, the construction device springing back to life.

One of the guards held his hand out to shield the attack, doing little but provide an extra half inch of organic material for the drill to power through. He screamed in agony as Jackrabbit aimed straight at his palm, tearing a large hole though his flesh. The killer twisted the drill upwards, using the momentum to press further. The metallic rod travelled through the underside of the Yakuza's jaw, effortlessly travelling up through his mouth and into the floor of his cranial cavity. He convulsed, blood bubbling out his mouth and spattering his immediate surroundings with shards of bone and blood. The assassin reached to the man's waistline, hands slipping around the grip of his concealed pistol. He yanked it out, unloading five shots directly into the other guard's chest. Both of the burly men fell to the ground like sacks of meat. The screams of those who had still yet to leave only intensified, traumatizing those who were unfortunate enough to be forced to stay.

The other thugs on the floor didn't wait for Jackrabbit to reach them- the moment their target was identified, they whipped out their own firearms, unloading the contents of their magazines at the costumed vigilante. The killer ducked, attempting to yank his tool out from his impaled victim with little success. He kicked open the door in front of him, roughly dragging the body with him as he dodged their gunfire.

A set of horrified screeches behind him caused him to turn around- he had found himself in the kitchen of the nightclub, the trio of cooking staff horrified at the sight before them. One of them threw the doors to the walk-in freezer open, practically throwing the other two inside and slamming the door behind him.

The distraction taken care of, Jackrabbit refocused his attention on the drill. He flipped a switch on its side to reverse the direction of the drill. He revved up the machine, watching as the corpse attached to it convulsed with the action. He slammed his foot on the dead man's forehead, using it as leverage to yank the drill bit out of his head.

He wasn't given much time before the kitchen door was thrust open, three Yakuza rushing into the room in order to launch their own offensive. Jackrabbit dove backwards, sliding back behind the counters full of cooking equipment. From his prone position on the floor, he unloaded the rest of the magazine into one of the men, bodying him almost immediately. He pushed himself back behind cover as the other two shot at him, the bullets cracking and sinking into the slip-resistant tiling. Amidst their gunfire, he threw his pistol around the corner, the object distracting them and causing them to flinch. He took the opportunity to jump to his feet, grabbing a knife from a nearby rack and throwing it cleanly into the second man's chest. The impact sent him stumbling back, leading him to collapse against the final guard, who roughly shoved him out of the way, onto the ground.

Not wanting the distraction to go to waste, Jackrabbit quickly scanned for anything that could be used as a means to attack. His eyes settled on a large pot of frying oil, meant to fry the stack of breaded pork cutlets sitting next to it. A gas fire raged underneath it, giving the killer an idea of just how scalding it truly was. With little time to think, he rushed over, smoothly scooping the metal container into his hands. Just as he approached the Yakuza, he swung his arms back to his side, stomping to a halt and using the momentum to carry the pot forward. He let go, watching as it sailed in a small arc across the room, slamming into the guard and spilling its contents all over him.

The wretches of agony that erupted from this man were forever engrained on the memories of those who were around to hear it. He slipped to the ground, flailing in the pool of searing liquid, steam escaping from his body as it seeped into his clothes and cooked him alive. His skin blistered, puffing up in white patches everywhere the oil touched. He fruitlessly tried to fling it off his body, but the oil clung to him, his skin audibly sizzling as he howled in abject torment.

The mantis-faced assassin stood quietly as he watched the thug wail and beg for mercy. The oil had spilled onto his partner as well, but in the throes of death he had barely felt the heat. He sauntered back to where he dropped the drill, picking it up and returning to the only living victim he had left. He slammed his hand on the man's jaw, his screaming intensifying before being cut off entirely by the sound of the metal instrument grinding his brain to a paste.

The rest of the building's security forces stood little resistance to the monster determined to destroy them. It didn't help that this wasn't a well defensible holdout, either. The few people stationed here were just here to protect the money coming into the club, so it made sense that these weren't going to be the top of the line underlings.

One of them had even thrown his gun away, collapsing into a hastily composed Dogeza as he begged for mercy. The only thing it granted him was a large hole in the back of his skull.

Jackrabbit proceeded through the second and third floors of the club, passing through the balconies and private rooms. Passing through a swinging door to the back, he was greeted with a final rickety narrow staircase that led to a single swinging door.

_'Manager's Office,'_ it read.

The moment he reached the top step, a slew of bullets shot out from the other side of the door, peppering his body with projectiles. A series of loud _pops_ exploded from the other side of the door, holes appearing through the thin paneling as bullets from an unseen assailant fired upon him. The assassin dropped to the ground, waiting for the rounds to stop firing. The moment he heard the signature _clack_ of a magazine being ejected, he punched open the door, scrambling to his feet and rushing inside to the room.

The office itself was rather barren, consisting of little more than a desk and a window to oversee the main floor. A few extra chairs lined the walls, one of which was occupied; a blue and white hooded figure was tied to the one closest to the desk, their head hung low but their chest still moving.

The Yakuza who fired on him was clearly not expecting him to survive- he was completely off guard, his stance weak enough to allow Jackrabbit to plow through him and shove him against the heavy oak desk behind him. The mantis-masked man shoved him over the surface of the furniture, bending the thug's back at an awkward angle as he brought his fist down onto his nose with a heavy thud. A sharp _crack_ echoed through the room as the bone and cartilage crumbled beneath the force, but the attacker was far from done.

In one swoop, he grabbed the man by his wrists, pinning his arms above his head. With his free hand, he reached over to a cup full of pens and grabbed a handful of them. He slammed them into the man's neck, tips pointed downward, the sheer amount of force causing them to easily break the man's skin and muscular material. He let go, bringing his fist up and slamming it back down onto the writing utensils embedded into the man's body, forcing them even deeper into his throat. He repeated the action, watching as the light from the guard's eyes faded increasingly with each impact.

Eventually, he let go of the Yakuza, watching as his body slumped to the ground, the strained pose causing him to flop onto his stomach unceremoniously.

Jackrabbit turned his attention to the only other living being in the room, calmly and slowly stepping over to the person he was sent here to find. He grabbed the figure's hood, roughly pulling it back to expose his face.

The man looked absolutely dejected, scraggly blonde hair covering his eyes. Streams of tears and snot dripped off of his face, the weight of his failed mission taking a toll on him.

He slowly raised his head, looking at the monstrous being staring at him from above.

"I... they..." He trailed off, a genuine expression of surprise invading his voice. "You... you came for me?!"

Jackrabbit stood there, unmoving as he grabbed the chair and dragged it away from the wall.

"I can't believe it... after I failed..." He shook his head, hair parting to reveal a set of heavily sunken, trembling eyes that carried an immeasurable amount of guilt. "They said they were going to bring someone to make me confess everything... They w-were going to make me expose e-e-everything."

"I failed you!" He yelled, scrunching his eyes shut as he hung his head. "I don't deserve to serve you, let alone be in your presence!"

The assassin stood back, wordlessly observing the hysterical ravings of his follower.

"I cannot be forgiven for this- please!" He insisted, straining against his bindings as he hyperventilated. "Do whatever you will, please pass judgement on me!"

Jackrabbit unclipped the thermoses from his belt, unscrewing the caps as he placed one on the ground. With the other, he brought it up to the man's lips, wordlessly telling him to drink the liquid being offered to him.

The man obediently opened his mouth, eyes widening in shock as he willingly drank the thick and oily substance from the container. He was only allowed a few gulps before the mantis-faced killer pulled the thermos back, raising it over the follower's head to pour liberally over his body.

"Thank you." The man repeatedly muttered, rocking back and forth in his seat. "Thank you. Thank you. Thankyou thankyou _thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-"_

The tone of his mantra morphed into an almost euphoric tone as the second bottle of the liquid was dumped all over the rest of his body. He leaned back up, tears mixing with the orange-brownish liquid as he babbled words of boundless praise to the Avatar he revered.

Jackrabbit didn't bother disposing of the thermoses, simply tossing them to the side. The killer reached behind the bound captive, tugging at the ends of the rope until the bindings loosened and fell apart.

Almost immediately, the raving follower threw himself out of the chair, sinking to his knees as he held his hands up in an almost religious form of praise.

"You are so perfect. I accept your judgement, Avatar. I deserve this. Thank you for being so kind to judge me. You are amazing. You're perfect. I love you-"

He cut himself off as the mantis-faced man grabbed his hands, forming them into a bowl shape as if to accept an offering. The assassin reached into his back pocket, producing a small metallic object. He placed it into his follower's hands, pressing them together to close around the gift.

The man watched as his idol turned and left. He opened his palms once more revealing the item given to him: it was a zippo lighter.

Peals of laughter bubbled in his chest as the kerosene dripped from his brow. He held it tight to his chest, body keeling over as his hysterics reached new heights.

It wasn't long before Overhaul and Shin Nemoto made it to Genius. After word had reached them that someone was snooping around the club, the truth-coercive lieutenant had been dispatched to extract what information they could from him. Despite his protests, Overhaul demanded he go as well, his paranoia driving him to see things for himself.

When they arrived, and absolute nightmare awaited them- the aftermath of an all-out assault on one of their public-facing operations, the death of their guards...

...and the still-burning corpse of their source of hope waiting for them in the manager's office. 

* * *

A/N: ...yep, the chapters are getting longer again. I'm doing my best, okay?

Anyways, it was great writing this chapter, and I hope I'm keeping you intrigued enough to be invested in the many more twists and turns ahead of us. I'll see you all soon!

Thanks as always, and don't forget to leave a comment letting me know what you thought! It's legitimately my biggest motivator in all of this.


	6. Thy Muscles Severed

**_"We belong to you."_**

_Izuku awoke with a start, his breath forcibly wresting itself from his lungs as he violently threw his torso off of the mattress. He clutched at the sheets in his grasp, the soft material slipping through his fingers as the sweat drenching him seeped into the bedding around him. He looked around, wide eyed and frantic, trying to desperately understand his surroundings. _

_It wasn't the small room he was given in his apartment. No, this was radically different from the cheap furniture he had supplied himself from his job. The mattress formed around his body, beckoning him softly to lay back down and drift off to dream-land, the sheets complimenting the gesture with a sleek and cool feeling that kept him comfortable. _

_His initial panic was quickly swept away as his adrenaline addled mind slowly kicked back into gear. This definitely was not his room- but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him either. He loosened his death grip on the fabric covering him, closing his eyes as he slowed his breathing. _

_He had absolutely no idea where he was, or why he was in such a lavish bed. It seemed rather unfitting for the room itself, which was little more than four plaster walls and a tiled floor. He wracked his mind to remember where he was, but he just couldn't quite get the pieces to fit- _

**_"We are nothing without you."_**

_The door quietly turned on its hinges, revealing the scores of white-and-blue hooded figures waiting behind it. They filed in, their eagerness causing a slough of miniature tussles as they struggled to get in before their colleagues. It wasn't long before the room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with these individuals, all of them with their gazes affixed to the green haired man on the bed. They all looked expectantly at him, some inexplicable joy etched into their features as they struggled to refrain from an outburst of joy. _

_Wordlessly, the figures reached forward, hands lightly sliding underneath his body as they lifted him up. It wasn't long before he was laid prone above their heads, the multitude of hands supporting him. _

_Once the group ensured that they would have no problems holding him up, he was slowly pushed away, his limp body moving towards the door. For each hand that relinquished their contact, another one was greedily finding purchase, the crowd working together to keep him in motion. _

_Izuku remained completely calm throughout this process, not finding a single bit of instinct demanding his resistance as he was carried through the frame of the door and into the hallway. His chest filled with a strange, warm feeling, some kind of emotion whose name he could not find the words for. _

**_"You are the world to us."_**

_The rows of fluorescent lights bounced across his eyes as he was slowly transferred down the hallway, to a location he knew nothing of. He looked down, craning his neck to see if he could gauge some semblance of information, but all he could see were the rows upon rows of figures. Their enraptured eyes practically teared up at the sight of them, a hushed murmur of excitement travelling through them as they waited for his unmoving body to approach them. _

_He turned countless corners and crossed through countless doors, but not once did he ever lose the support of those beneath him. This group was astoundingly massive, and despite the hundreds of people present for this strange procession, he couldn't help but feel that this was only a fraction of those who were part of this faction. _

_The whispers of the gatherers grew increasingly more excited, with many of them struggling to keep their words at a quiet volume. Izuku's stomach churned with the noise, growing more unruly as the din only increased around him. _

_It was only as he found himself rounding yet another corner that the chattering suddenly screeched into a deathly silence. He was carried through a door to his side, the harsh lights illuminating a sort of operating table that the group had surrounded. The hands underneath him carefully rolled him onto his stomach, slowly sliding him onto the cold metal surface. His hands were guided to a pair of small divots on the device, a padded bar in each of them, meant for him to grab onto. He felt a set of straps pull down over the back of his calves and ankles, locking his body into place, unable to manifest even the tiniest of twitches. _

_Something thin and cold pressed itself against his back, tracing itself down the fabric of his shirt and audibly tearing it down the middle. He felt the tattered clothing get pulled back, exposing his skin to the frigid air. Yet again he felt something thin press against his back, this time so sharp that he could feel it piercing the outermost layer of his skin. _

**_"Nothing compares to our passion for you."_**

_The scalpel pressed deeper, effortlessly moving through the fragile layers of skin and fat. The wielder of the surgical tool steadily moved the blade along Izuku's spine, cutting a straight line down to his waist. _

_Throughout this process, the green haired boy gritted his teeth, not uttering the slightest of whimpers as he clutched at the support bars in his hands. He tensed his muscles, breathing heavily as he scrunched his eyes shut. _

_Something else pierced his back, hooking itself into the large gash the surgeon had made- he couldn't tell what it was, but the tension it had on his wound made its purpose clear. The scalpel was removed, pressing back into his shoulder. It moved across his body, perpendicular to the initial cut. A similar motion was made on the lower half of his body, scoring his back into two rectangular shapes. _

_The objects hooking into his back pulled back harder, and Izuku could barely hold in his screams as he felt his skin peel away from his back, the scalpel running under the cut to fully separate the sub dermis from his muscle. His breathing became nothing but rapid, hysterical, shallow whimpers; his eyes were wide, pupils shrunk to the size of pinpoints as the green irises violently jittered back and forth from the trauma. He heard a sickening slapping noise as something flimsy fell against the metal table- he knew exactly what it was, daring not to envision it in his head. _

_His breath hitched as he felt a pressure against his back; he could not directly feel it, but something was pressing on his internal organs. He dared not breathe, holding his breath as his heart raced. It wasn't long before the pressure dramatically increased, the sound of something tearing inside of him as he felt a horrified scream pour from his mouth. _

**_"We love you."_**

Izuku awoke with a start, his breath forcibly wresting itself from his lungs as he violently threw his torso off of the thin mattress. He clutched at the sheets in his grasp, the coarse material gripping his fingers as the sweat drenching him seeped into the bedding around him. He looked around, wide eyed and frantic, trying to desperately understand his surroundings.

The familiar sight of his room brought a sense of relief to him, as he limply fell back onto the bed. He groaned uncomfortably, the springy box doing little to absorb the impact against the floor beneath it. He wiped the sweat off his brow, staring up at the ceiling and watching the faint light of the street signs outside bounce against the small crags and bumps in his ceiling.

The adrenaline quickly wore off, the young adult gaining more control over his breathing as he tried to make sense of the vivid dream he was presented with. His stomach churned from the horrid visions he had received, but his chest echoed some strange sense of familiarity, something he couldn't quite trace. Despite the vulgar depiction, his mind only lingered on it, comparing the strange surgery to the act of a butterfly spreading its wings as it breaks out of its cocoon.

He shook his head, pursing his lips as he quickly forced the thoughts out of his head. His mind returned to reality, and it dawned on him that he had promised to spend time with Yuuki... on All Might Day. He felt his heart slowly pick up its pace, both in anxiety and guilt as he pondered on what the day would bring.

He groaned in frustration, pulling the pillow out from under him as he slammed it over his face. He knew this decision was a mistake, and now he was getting nightmares from it. But... he knew he couldn't back out now.

He resigned himself to defeat, closing his eyes with his pillow still covering his head. This wasn't the time to ponder on these things; he did his best to clear his head of intrusive thoughts, feeling his drowsiness fall over him once more.

Izuku quietly slipped off to slumber once more, strangely confident in the fact that he wouldn't remember the dream once he had woken up a second time.

* * *

"Look alive, detective!" Police Chief Tsuragamae bellowed as he threw aside the door to Tsukauchi's small office. He strode through the entrance, slamming a copy of the day's newspaper onto the startled detective's desk. "We've gone public."

The front of the paper contained a blurry photo of what appeared to be some sort of nightclub- next to it was a well-rendered sketch of Jackrabbit. The strange being had this almost menacing gaze, staring directly into the detective's soul. The sight of it alone sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He skimmed over the details of the article within, picking up minor details about the assault that had been carried out at the nightclub just a few hours ago.

"Why wasn't I notified?" He folded the paper in half, covering the piercing stare of the murderous vigilante.

"I would like to know that myself. The press were notified practically as soon as it happened, yet not a single call came in through dispatch regarding the incident."

"That doesn't make sense- this many witnesses, but not a _single_ call on the emergency line? That's impossible."

"What do you suggest happened, then?" He paused, a tense air of silence hanging between the two.

The detective did his best to keep his face as stoic as he could. He placed his hand on his hip, rubbing the tip of his thumb against the plastic edges of Rappa's burner phone underneath the layers of fabric.

He sighed, shaking his head. "No idea. Perhaps I'm simply overestimating the ability of kids these days."

Tsuragamae huffed, the puffs of air almost comically puffing his doglike cheeks. "You sound almost as old as me when you say things like that."

Their lapse in conversation was conveniently broken by the appearance of Bakugou, who had stopped dead in his tracks outside the door frame. Before he could say anything the Police Chief directed his attention towards him.

"Ah yes, our 'consultant.'" He waved him over. "Close the door behind you."

The blonde pro-hero pursed his lips, quickly slamming the door shut as he folded his arms. He moved over towards the pair of law enforcers, sliding himself onto the top of one of the nearby desks.

"I take it you're aware of the most recent attack?"

"Yeah, it was all over the screens on the TV shops on the way here." He crossed his legs. "Buncha people wasting time staring at it, too."

"...Right." Tsukauchi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Has the scene been secured for investigation?"

"We're sending over our medical and tech personnel to do the forensic work and bring the bodies in. You'll have access to it after that."

Bakugou shifted around on the desk, trying not to reveal how relieved he felt at the news. The two policemen ignored the gesture.

"What about witnesses?"

"We've asked the local news stations for information regarding who sent in the footage. Without any concrete info, we've got little in the way of finding out who was there."

The pro hero sighed, pulling out his aging smartphone, typing rapidly on the screen.

"We've got almost no leads to work off of... we've scoured everything on the case so far." Tsukauchi sighed, curling his fist over his mouth.

"I take it your fireside chat with the worst villain in history did not go well?"

"Nothing but conspiracy." He waved his hand, shooing the question away like a bothersome fly. "All he did was rile Bakugou up."

"Well, next time you decide to do something as stupid as that, _ask_ me next time-"

The chief was cut off by the blonde hero stepping between him and the detective, slamming his phone on the desk. It had the web browser open, the page displaying a type of forum with a live chat on the bottom moving rapidly.

"There's already fan-pages up for him. This one... it's got everything."

The policemen's eyes widened, Tsukauchi's face growing pale as he snatched the phone up to take a look for himself.

"Jackrabbit, the previous places he went, it even has a list of the high ranking Yakuza he's killed. It's all there."

"These chat messages..." The detective trailed off. "...They're all praising him. 'Jackrabbit is cleaning up these streets...' 'He's doing what the police never could...' 'It's about time someone stood up to the Yakuza...' How does he have a cult following _already_? It's only been a few hours since he got publicized."

"More importantly, _woof_," Tsugaramae cleared his throat. "It appears we have someone in our office who has no problems leaking highly sensitive information."

"Were they... waiting for this to come out?" Tsukauchi muttered, quickly pulling out his notepad to scribble down more thoughts. "This type of site... it can't be made in the span of a few hours. Were they preparing for this?"

The police chief huffed, shaking his head in defeat. "We'll know when we find out who it is. I'll deal with that matter myself. In the meantime, do what you must to prepare to investigate the crime scene when you're cleared for entry."

The dog-faced policeman didn't wait for a response before he took his leave. Once the door shut, all that was left was the detective and the pro-hero, both with exceedingly concerned looks etched into their features.

"He's never attacked a public place like he had this time... why did he change his modus operandi?" Tsukauchi paused, tapping the back of his pen against his notebook at regular intervals. "There doesn't seem to be any high profile targets there, either."

"Who knows?" Bakugou shrugged. "How come I didn't hear about this until just now? This happened late last night, right?"

The detective took a deep breath, holding it as he placed his tented fingertips on either side of his nose. He opened his mouth, sighing as he expelled all the air pent up in his lungs.

"...That's because someone in dispatch prevented any of the calls from going through. Maybe more than one of them."

"What- w-what the hell are you saying that for?!"

"There could have easily been around 200 people in that club. Assuming it was Yakuza owned, the staff wouldn't say a word... but the patrons..." He looked up, eyes hardening as he focused on his blonde underling. "Do you really think not a single one of them wouldn't call in? It doesn't make sense. No heroes were called out, no police involvement... looking at this page you sent me, it looks like the media got it from some of the videos uploaded to YouTube. Who in their right mind would witness a massacre _live_ and just simply go home?"

"Should we tell the Chief?"

"No... not now." He sighed. "Something's off. His job is bureaucratic- and he's going to personally deal with the mole?"

"Maybe he doesn't trust anyone else to do it."

"Yeah, that could be the case." He rubbed his eyes, the gears in his head grinding to a halt. "That whole conversation about the Vanguard has made me paranoid. Speaking of which- what made you change your mind?"

"That... 'Failure...' said I should go. I don't know how he knew, but..." The memories flashing back of the meeting he had with the strange man in the biker helmet sent shivers up his spine. "Damn bastard creeps me the hell out."

"Well, either way we did get some information out of him, even if it wasn't immediately helpful." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "If he approaches you again, see if I can speak with him as well. Or at the very least try to record him."

"What, you ain't got anyone to tail me?" He sneered, before looking around to the empty room. "Actually, why is it just you and me?"

"My manpower has slowly been draining from this office ever since... well all that _stuff._" He sourly replied. "There was All Might, first... and then after that Endeavor disappeared the next year. Ever since then, a lot of the fear and faith in the hero system eroded. Most of them are in organized crime or in homicide. They're doing well. But as for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, it's just me and you for now."

Bakugou huffed, rubbing his fingertips together as he failed to find anything to say. Tsukauchi quickly cut the silence by handing the pro-hero's phone back to him.

"While we're waiting to investigate, keep an eye on that forum. Pull it up on the desktop, if you see anything noteworthy copy it down so we can keep track of it."

The blonde man huffed in response, pushing himself off the desk as he turned the computer on. Within minutes he was on the site and scanning through the forum posts to find anything he could.

The detective spent a few moments perusing through the case files, but was unable to find anything novel about them. He eventually stood up, the action causing Bakugou's head to snap to attention.

"Keep working on what you're doing right now." Tsukauchi commanded, sinking his hand into his trench coat pocket and pulling out Rappa's phone. "I'm going to have an acquaintance of mine work on this. Hopefully she'll be able to give us some more info on the remaining Yakuza."

"Do I know this person?"

"You may remember her, she was the one who helped raid Yuuei when you were still a student there. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to help, provided we work out some sort of deal. I'll see what I can do. If you find anything, let me know."

With that, he left, leaving a mildly annoyed and grumbling pro hero to do the menial work he was assigned.

* * *

Yuuki couldn't deny that his brain was wracking itself as he ascended the metal steps tracing the outside of the apartment complex that Izuku was renting from. He held his phone tightly in his hands, double, triple checking that the address he was texted was where he was at. He wondered if he should text his acquaintance to ask him if he was _absolutely sure_ that's where he lived, or maybe that would be a stupid thing to text- and he still couldn't for the life of him figure out where he wanted them to go!

He stopped right outside of the apartment, looking at the number etched into the door plate.

_Room 302_ , it read back to him.

He double checked the apartment complex name, its slightly tilted sign standing erect at the entrance. _South Ashi Heights_, it confirmed. The same as Izuku had sent him.

He nervously bit his lower lip, feeling his lengthy and sharp incisors press into the skin. He held his breath, puffing his cheeks out as he clenched his fists. He shook his head, internally groaning. He should have backed out; this wasn't really his forte.

Technically speaking, it _wasn't_ quite the point of no return. He could just turn tail and bolt from the building, then make some excuse about how he just _can't_ find the building and that they should try again when it wasn't a national holiday-

Yuuki resisted the urge to punch himself in the face as he felt his cheeks turn purple from the combined embarrassment and oxygen deprivation. He shouldn't be backing out now! Not when he was literally at the door!

He steeled his resolve, continuing to hold his breath as he reached forward, fist shaking as he prepared to rap his knuckles against the metal surface...

"Oh, are you a friend of Midoriya's?"

The sudden exclamation from a previously unnoticed source caused all the air to rush out of his lungs in shock, the propulsion sending the vampiric young man flying backwards and silently crumpling against the railing behind him. His legs gave out, one hand firmly grasping the metal rail to support him as the other was clenching the fabric of his shirt.

In front of him was a rather energetic looking man around his age. An overwhelming aura of confidence radiated out of him as he smiled wide, jagged teeth shining back at the stricken man in front of him. His hair was a blazing red, just as bright as his eyes, and spiked up to an almost ridiculous degree. He immediately rushed over, grabbing the other person by the shoulders, almost effortlessly pulling him back to his unstable feet.

"Are you okay?" He tilted his head, eyes closing as his grin widened even further. "Didn't mean to shock you like that!"

Yuuki nervously laughed, backing up as he leaned against the railing. "No, no- i-it's fine! Just, ah... you just caught me off guard is all."

"That's good!" He boomed, a slight peal of laughter escaping through his teeth. "So you're a friend of Midoriya here?"

Yuuki's eyes widened, looking away and scratching the back of his head. "W-well... you could say friend... or acquaintance... or just someone he met in passing... a-ah... m-my name's Yuuki! What's yours?"

The man puffed up his chest, striking his chest with a hardened fist as he pointed his thumb towards himself. "I'm Kirishima! Nice to meet you! I'm Midoriya's trainer at the gym a few blocks over."

"Trainer?"

The question only seemed to fuel the well-built man's ego, as he curled his biceps and struck a pose for the person that he had just met minutes ago.

"Yup! Only the most _manliest_ of professions- Oh! My business card!" He immediately broke out of his self-aggrandizing stance, shoving a hand into his pocket to pull out a slightly worn out white slip of stock paper. Yuuki cautiously took it into his hands, reading the name and description emblazoned on it.

_Eijirou Kirishima_ , it practically shouted in blazing red foil letters, _Personal Trainer and Physical Therapist._

"Physical therapy?" The vampiric man echoed.

"Well- I can take on clients who have been in incidents that debilitated them, but I don't really do that much. Most of my physical therapy clients are when doctors prescribe exercise for people who- ah, actually..." He paused, wincing. "It's probably best I don't talk about it. Not like I don't want to tell you, but... I'd be revealing secrets Midoriya probably doesn't want me to talk about. Sorry."

"N-No," Yuuki stammered, waving his open palms at the crimson man in front of him, "I shouldn't pry if it's that sensitive. What are you here for, anyway?"

"Oh, I was just checking up on him." Kirishima laughed. "He'll sometimes squirrel himself away in his apartment, so I'll just check up on him every once in a while. But it looks like you beat me to the punch!"

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of the dead bolt on the door unlocking, the metal pane slowly turning inwards on its hinges as a small crack formed, bridging the inside to the outside.

A small vertical slice of Izuku's face slowly appeared on the other side, obscured slightly by the metal chain keeping the door from swinging open fully. A bright green eye gazed outward, staring back at the two red eyed people staring right back at him.

The world seemed to freeze for a few seconds, everyone unsure of how to react in the situation presented before them. That moment swiftly ended as Izuku's face flushed, his skin turning an almost cherry red as his mouth widened and trembled in unspoken horror. The door immediately slammed shut, a cacophony of mumbling on the other side that sounded like half-intelligible apologies.

"Does... does he normally do that?" Yuuki nervously asked the gym trainer next to him.

"Not often..." Kirishima trailed off. "Only when there's too many surprises at once."

"We planned this, though..." He muttered under his breath.

"It could just be stress..." The muscled man's eyes widened as a realization hit him. "Oh... that's right. Today's All Might Day."

"Did... something happen?"

"Well..." He sighed, his voice dropping to a considerably lower volume. "I guess it's fine if I tell you just so you're aware, but... please don't talk about it with him."

Kirishima waited for Yuuki to nod his head before continuing.

"They've apparently got some sour history between them. I don't know much about the details... but I do know it's something that affected him very deeply." He sighed. "All Might even tried to directly reach out to him... he even sent a letter to my gym addressed to him. But I think Midoriya threw it away without reading it. After he... after he died, a large donation was made to the gym and attached to it was a request to allow him to continue using the facilities for free. I never told him though- I was worried that if he knew, then he may stop coming, so we just told him that his health insurance was covering the session costs."

"I see..." The vampiric young man trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"If he wants to hang out with you, on today of all days, you must have left quite the impression on him." He patted Yuuki's shoulder roughly, the impact causing him to wince a little. "I hope you can break his shell a little."

The door opened once more, swinging all the way to the side to reveal a rather flustered looking Izuku, head painfully craned to the side, doing his best not to look at the two visitors directly.

"I- a-ah... W-W-Welc- uh... How a-are you two doing?" He mumbled, his words just barely understandable.

Yuuki opened his mouth to speak but was immediately cut off by the booming Kirishima next to him.

"Oh don't get too worried, I'm just here to check up on 'ya." The man placed his hands on his hips, leaning in to get a closer look. "It's been a while since you've been around."

"K-Kirishima, it hasn't been _th-that_ long-"

"It's been 3 weeks; you can't weasel your way out of this one. At least tell me you've been taking days off of work."

Izuku looked increasingly flustered, sending desperate glances begging for help over to his vampiric acquaintance. Yuuki looked just as bewildered as he was, and completely unable to step in for anything.

"He isn't going to help you on this one." The gym instructor chided. "When was the last time you took off time before work?"

"T-two days ago, actually!" The barista blurted out, pointing at his cohort. "I w-went with him to the library!"

"And before that?"

"I- uh... I..." He turned away, sweat forming on his brow as he tried to hide his face. "I... don't, ah- r-remember?"

Kirishima sighed, shoulders slumping. "You need time for yourself, we've been _over_ this. Well... at least he seems to be getting you out."

Yuuki looked back and forth between the two other people in the conversation, wisely choosing to remain silent.

The red-haired young adult continued, "Now- Woah!"

His exclamation took them both off guard, only to be further shocked as he grabbed Izuku by the wrist and lifted his arm up. The barista's muscles rippled under his skin as they involuntarily flexed, their density stealthily rivaling that of the gym instructor's own.

"Have... you been exercising outside of the gym?" He asked, genuinely taken aback by the other adult's stature.

"N-no!" He exclaimed, ripping his arm out of the other man's grip. "The only exercise I've been doing is lifting the coffee bean bags. A-and! I've been lifting them with my legs, not my back!"

Kirishima took a few steps back, shaking his head. "I'm surprised that you seem to have gotten built so much just from doing that, but... As long as you're being safe about it. _You've got such a manly physique now!_"

The other two watched awkwardly as he clenched his fist, slamming his eyes shut as he exclaimed his praise for Izuku's musculature.

"Well, anyway..." The gym trainer trailed off, "...It's good to see you're doing well at least. You know you should be dropping by the gym, though. Doctor's orders."

The barista looked down, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I will..."

"Good." The red-haired young man replied, turning to face the doorway. "Alright, I'll let you two get on with your get-together. I'll see you soon, Midoriya!"

The two of them watched as Kirishima bounded down the steps, jogging out of the complex and out of sight. Once the dust finally settled, they looked at each other, unsure of how exactly to approach the situation they were a part in.

"Would, ah-" Izuku cut himself off, his voice cracking slightly. "Would you like to... come in?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah. I think that would be nice." Yuuki stiltedly replied, shuffling into the barista's home.

The vampiric young adult was slightly put off by the lack of any sort of decoration in the apartment. It looked practically untouched. The walls were completely barren, and the floor didn't fare much better. The main room consisted of little more than a single two-seat couch in front of a small TV that rested on the floor. The open kitchen connected to the room was barely any better, the only thing aside from the dripping faucet of the sink being a single plate left on a drying rack.

"So..." The barista trailed off, "did you know where you want to go?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about that!" Yuuki blurted out. "Ah- Sorry. Are there... like, any places you like to go to?"

"...Not really."

"...Oh. How about any hobbies? Anything you like to do in your spare time?"

"...No..."

The two of them just stared at each other, before Izuku eventually broke the gaze and looked to the side. His face seemed... blank. That was the best way to put it.

"There's a Jazz club that's over in Kichijoji we could go to!" Yuuki burst out the idea the moment it crossed his mind. "Everyone is going to be out in the parades, and it's hidden pretty well. If we go now, we'll get there at about seven o'clock. We could... go there?"

"...Yeah, that works." The barista replied, the same smile he gives to his customers forming on his face as he spoke. "Let's go there!"

* * *

Bakugou had lost count of how many hours he spent scanning the website for anything suspicious, but there was little he could find that proved noteworthy. It was obvious to him and Tsukauchi that someone who was a part of (or related to) the police force was the one who created the forum... but neither of them could find anything that came close to personally identifiable information. The website itself was hosted in America, meaning whatever legal means they had to obtain the owner's information would take considerably longer than they would have liked.

"What's the status on when the crime scene will be cleared for entry?" The pro-hero impatiently asked his superior.

He was by no means looking forward to snooping around a scene where corpses used to lay, but he was going to have to bite the bullet sooner or later.

"I don't know." Tsukauchi muttered, taking a glance at his watch. "It's rare for them to take this long, but... who knows, honestly."

Bakugou huffed, turning his attention back onto the screen. He was on the verge of smashing the mouse to bits with his fist. There was only so much of the same drivel and adoration of the man who he had let go that he could go through.

"Are you finding anything useful?" The detective asked, casting a slightly concerned glance at the seething hero.

"Of course I'm not!" He bit out loud, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "I'm fucking sick of reading the same shit over and over!"

The older man sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I thought as much. Go take a break; I'll let you know when we're allowed to start investigating."

"...Whatever." The blonde stood up, digging into his pockets. "Been craving a smoke all day, anyway."

He sauntered out, quickly crossing the empty hallways of the precinct before exiting the building. He wasted no time walking across the street to the designated smoking area, which was little more than a set of glass walls cordoning habitual users off from the rest of the street. Luckily, at this time of day it was just about as empty as the precinct itself.

He took his seat at a bench wedged into the corner of the glass walls, lighting up the tobacco and taking a deep drag of the smoldering plant. He held it in his lungs for just a moment, before exhaling it and sending a wispy cloud up to the sky. He leaned back, closing his eyes as he felt his stress slowly ebb away.

"How did the meeting go?"

Bakugou's eyes shot open as the eerily familiar voice emanated from just a few feet in front of him. He let his head hang, revealing the countenance of the same biker who he had met just the day before.

"It went fucking terrible, that's what." He grunted, his teeth clamping down on the cigarette's filter. "The hell did you want me to talk to him for?"

"He's a waste of humanity, but he served his purpose. I apologize, but... there was no way you'd believe anything I said until he corroborated."

The pro hero's gaze darkened as he realized what exactly The Biker meant.

"Failure, huh?" He puffed another plume of smoke. "Mind telling me what that means?"

"I- I don't know myself, to be honest." He replied, his monotonous voice faltering for a moment. "All I know is that I was supposed to be... something like Jackrabbit. But instead, my eyes were opened. And I know what will happen if he is left unchecked."

"Millions will die, yeah..." Bakugou trailed off. "You chose the worst fucking hero for that job."

"What?"

"...Forget about it." He sighed, shaking his head. "So what are you here for?"

"...Let's go somewhere, first." The Biker replied, adjusting his emblazoned puffer vest. "This place isn't the best to avoid prying eyes."

"Fine. Where do you want to go to?"

"There's a Jazz bar in Kichijoji, not too far from here. It should take just a few minutes' travel- so we should get there at about seven."

The pro hero balked at the suggestion, scoffing. "The hell are we going to a bar for? I ain't getting drunk with some random cosplayer who keeps stalking me."

"They serve non-alcoholic drinks." The strange man obtusely offered, shrugging. "We are supposed to be there. And we'll be done before your next appointment, so there's no need to worry."

Bakugou leaned forward to protest, but he found his mind empty of any useful rebuttals. The odd confidence of this person seemed to seep into him, instilling an uncanny sense of calmness that he couldn't place anywhere else. His mind briefly flashed back to the day before, with All for One on the other side of the reinforced glass recounting his belief that these people were somehow "in touch with the future."

...Perhaps this is what he meant?

"Fine." He huffed, snuffing out his half-smoked cigarette on the ashtray next to him. He stood up, motioning for his acquaintance to lead the way. "Let's get on with it, then."

Their wordless journey was, as predicted, just a few minutes' travel on the metro trains. Bakugou quietly followed The Biker off the platform, and out onto the street. Almost immediately, the Sunroad Shopping District imposed itself upon them. A litany of small, boutique style shops selling all kinds of different items and wares crowded around the people, packed shoulder to shoulder in this collection of city blocks. The main walkways branching out of the station had a glass covering that bridged the buildings together- which would cast some inviting shade during the day but at this time in the afternoon it cast everything underneath it a few shades darker, lending the dense area a small sense of unease.

The blonde snapped himself back to reality, watching as his strange partner was beginning to disappear in the crowd. He picked up his pace, roughly shouldering some passersby as he made it back to an acceptable distance from the helmeted figure. He followed him as he turned the corner into an uncovered side alley, stopping next to their destination.

_"Sometime,"_ the sign read back to him in a somewhat old-timey font. The abode itself was little more than a concrete tunnel leading down from a small brick-laced opening in the alley. The walls of the descending passage were lined with the same type of lights used to illuminate mining tunnels, adding even more to the eclectic and almost senseless design.

The Biker didn't wait for a response from Bakugou, opting to slowly walk down the stairs and into the Jazz bar. The pro hero followed, ears perking as a soft and melodic tune danced around his ears, slowly growing louder the closer to the bottom he got. Eventually, the tunnel turned a corner, leading into the venue proper.

The place was unbelievably cramped, barely able to sit a couple dozen shoulder to shoulder. This was slightly alleviated by a small terrace like upper level group of dining tables, overlooking the corner of the establishment where a trio of band members were playing the instruments just barely big enough to fit inside. The lead was a well-dressed woman in a blood-red dress, looking like a regular human aside from the fish tail poking out behind her legs. Her voice warbled like honey, softly calming everyone inside and bringing a strange sense of nostalgia to the place.

The waiter was quick to inform them that there was only one table available, hushed away in the corner of the upper terrace. The Biker nodded, slowly weaving through the tables and climbing up the small set of stairs to take his seat. Bakugou followed suit.

"...Are we not going to order something?" The pro hero asked, uncertain.

"No worries. I'll order something for myself once we're done here. They won't mind." He replied.

"...Right." The blonde sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So, why was it important that you bring me here?"

"I have no idea." His partner replied bluntly.

"Wha-" Bakugou's eyes widened, slamming his lips shut to avoid disturbing the rest of the bar with his outburst. He huffed and hunched over, whispering in a frustrated tone. "What the hell am I here for then?!"

The Biker shrugged. "I don't know. I just know you have to be here right now."

The pro hero pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. "...Okay. Guess I'll just... shoot the shit with you, then. You're called a 'Failure.' You said before that your 'eyes were opened.' And that rat bastard said you type of people can see the future. That right?"

"...To a degree, that is correct."

"...What fucking degree, then? Don't get vague on me now."

The Biker paused for a moment, sighing. "...very well. I don't see the future, but... it's kind of like receiving messages. I know that some thing has to happen at a certain place and time... and that something very bad will happen if that doesn't happen."

"You said millions would die."

"Yes."

"...Die from what, exactly?"

"...Themselves, I believe."

The answer sent a cold chill down Bakugou's spine, settling into a hard pit that sank into his stomach. He folded his arms, trying to wave off the instinctive reaction.

"How would that happen, then? They all join a massive suicide pact?"

The sarcastic response seemed to catch the obfuscated being off guard, his joints locking as his voice froze in his throat.

"I- That's- That's probably closer to the truth than you'd like." He paused, looking out over the patrons below him. "I don't know exactly what is going on, but... There are... there are different theories as to what moves people forward. And right now, there are forces attempting to prove their theory correct."

"That would be the Vanguard?"

"They don't have any proper name, but yes. They used to hold power over this country- a good chunk of the world beyond that, at one point. But they lost, and now seek to reclaim their mantle."

An errant giggle caught Bakugou's attention, his eyes quickly snapping to the source below him. Just a couple of meters away from him was the barista he had met a handful of times at the coffee shop in Shinjuku- he couldn't quite remember the name, only that it was a mouthful to say. He shook his head, returning his attention to the one in front of him.

"And how does killing the Yakuza solve that? How does eliminating the Eight Precepts of Death lead to the death of millions?"

"We are witnessing the preparations for their plans, not the execution. Chisaki's syndicate serves as some sort of barrier, but for what reasons I do not know. I am hoping that perhaps you would know that."

"They've got their hands in just about everything. Drugs, gambling, racketeering, you name it." He paused for a moment, "...Is it _because_ they have their hands in everything?"

"I don't know." The Biker shrugged. "We may not know until after they make their move."

Another laugh distracted Bakugou again, subconsciously turning to glance once more at the barista. The green-haired man looked as if he was having a good time... but-

"You know him." The Biker noted matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, he works at a coffee shop I found a few weeks ago. Makes a damn good cup, too."

"No." The acquaintance insisted. "You know him much better than that."

"The hell are you talking about?" He bit at the obfuscated man. He felt his heart skip a beat at the notion, slightly confused by the intense reaction he had.

"I don't know exactly who he is to you... but his connections run far deeper than just someone you met a few days ago."

"Is that one of your powers, Failure?"

"It is, actually." He replied bluntly. "And for some reason, you have blocked him from your memory. You've known each other for a very long time."

"I'm telling you, I only met him a few weeks ago!" He gritted his teeth, biting his tongue.

"...I see." The Biker concluded. "...It appears that would be the reason we were to meet here. It may be in your interest to understand who that man is and what he means to you."

Bakugou gripped the side of the table tightly, resisting an almost animalistic urge to dive across the lacquered wooden surface and strangle the creature in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his rational side screamed to calm down, insisting that something was very wrong if he was acting this way.

His internal debate was halted as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out, seeing the text message that Detective Tsukauchi had left for him. It appeared that the scene was open for investigation, an implicit demand that he return to the police station so that they could finally roll out to the scene.

The pro hero took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he released his grip on the table.

"It looks as if we've successfully done what we came here to do." The helmeted acquaintance noted, folding his arms neatly across each other on the table. "I hope you catch Jackrabbit before it is too late."

"Yeah, whatever." Bakugou huffed, glaring at his partner as he turned to leave.

He descended the steps, pausing for a moment as he observed the crowd. A part of him wanted to go out of his way to go out of his way to go in front of the barista's view, if only to _prove_ that they didn't know each other.

The moment that idea crossed his mind, a cold chill set into his body. A wild fear set into his stomach, causing his hands to tremble ever so slightly. He wasn't quite sure what was causing it, and the obscurity of it all only deepened the anxiety he felt approaching this person.

He sighed, muttering half-excuses as he weaved between the back row of tables, staying well out of the green-haired man's field of view. He quickly ascended the steps out of the bar, disappearing into the streets with a quickened pace as he tried desperately to calm the drum threatening to break his rib cage from the inside.

* * *

_"I don't understand... what's causing all of these cracks to form?" _

_Yokumitsu quietly stared as Neo-Mokai worked their craft, inspecting Izuku's head as it limply dangled from his shoulders. Nothing was obviously visibly concerning about the boy, but it didn't stop the squid-masked being from aggressively yanking open his mouth and eyelids as they stared intently into his face. _

_"...is something-"_

_"Damn it all!" The other being cut the mirror-masked man off, angrily throwing Izuku's head to the side. His body slid out of the chair, collapsing onto the ground like a puppet without strings. "I won't be able to keep maintaining it at this level." _

_"What do you mean?"_

_"The-" Neo-Mokai sighed, shaking his head. "The barrier I had to place in between the Avatar and the original personality... something is causing it to break down. But I can't pinpoint what caused it. The Avatar is just a dummy program, but none of the cracks are coming from the original personality." _

_"...I'm not quite sure I understand, but-"_

_"Of course you wouldn't."_

_Yokumitsu threw his hands up, exasperatingly sighing as he gave up on providing his input. _

_"...Sorry. Continue with what you were saying."_

_He leaned back on the bed, mumbling to the ceiling._

_"I was going to say to check the Avatar to see if anything changed on their end." _

_Neo-Mokai looked at his mirror-masked compatriot for a brief moment, before kneeling over Izuku's limp body. Just as before he leaned his mask right over his face, tendrils springing to life as they noisily invaded his head and began their investigation. It wasn't long before a surprised gasp rushed out of the being's mouth, pulling his head violently back as he backed away from the still-twitching body. _

_"What- it- how?!"_

_"Was I right?" Yokumitsu lazily leaning back on the mattress he was sitting on. _

_"The Avatar is... it's grown bigger than the space I've allocated for it." _

_The mirror-masked being yawned, his speech slightly slurring. "What's that... supposed to mean? It sounds worrying." _

_"It means something is causing it to grow, but- I don't..." He paused, staring at the body in front of him. In the blink of an eye, he was right back on top of Izuku, invading his mind once more. He eventually pulled back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. _

_"He's the one that caused this?!"_

_"Who?"_

_"No one you know." Neo-Mokai quickly batted back. "I wasn't expecting this development... but I think I can work with this. I'll just need to accelerate things before the barrier begins to break down." _

_"What'll happen then?"_

_The squid-masked man paused, shaking his head. "I... don't know. That worries me. I have no tolerance for X-factors such as this." _

_"And... what about that time when he..." _

_"That was a... fluke. It had to be. A symptom of the Avatar expanding." Neo-Mokai quickly waved the question away. "You're still going to be able to keep your little toy, if that's what you're asking." _

_"That's not-"_

_"It was. Don't bother trying to convince me otherwise." He sighed. "It's not my fault you insist on isolating yourself like this." _

_Yokumitsu didn't bother giving the other being a response. With a snap of his fingers, Neo-Mokai completely vanished from the room, his presence exercised wholesale. _

_"You won't be able to keep me out forever." A slightly annoyed voice rang out from the other side of the door. "Not with the boy in the state that he is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other pawns to move." _

* * *

Tsukauchi sighed, flipping through his notes as he exited the nightclub. The paltry few pages of his observations provided little in the way of new information; the corpses were already hauled off, waiting for their autopsy. The detective didn't quite expect anything particularly revolutionary to come of them, either- just as before, it seemed that their smoking gun had yet to reveal itself.

He could feel the heat of Bakugou's seething form radiate on his back- he had been unable to provide any new insights as well, which was visibly agitating the pro hero. He didn't bother to quell the blonde's anger, not when he felt a similar molten core of embarrassment burning through his chest.

He had read the initial survey reports before he had made it out to the scene- the corpse they found in the Manager's Office had been self-immolated, using kerosene that was not present at the site. The video footage of the club confirmed that Jackrabbit had been carrying containers attached to his hip, which was enough to deduce who brought it. But... how he knew that he would need to use it was still unknown. His current thoughts lay with the theory that there was a mutual relationship with the person who took their own life, but...

He stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, yellow eyes slowly rising from their gaze on the sidewalk.

"Bakugou, I need to make a few calls. Go ahead without me."

"What?" The pro hero grunted, clearly annoyed by the request. "I've been following you this whole time, and now you're-"

"Go home, now." The detective barked, turning to glare at his subordinate. "If you don't comply, I will arrest you myself."

The sudden and tense command caught the hero off-guard. He quickly shook the surprised look off his face, before pursing his lips and pushing past the man in the trench coat. "_Tch._ Whatever, go do whatever, I don't care."

Tsukauchi stood in the street, watching patiently as the spiky blonde head of his underling melded into the crowd and out of sight. The detective let out a small sigh of relief, back muscles tensing in preparation for the unfortunately familiar sensation of a gun barrel pressing against his spine that would occur only seconds later.

"Setsuno, is it?" He muttered, just loud enough for the figure behind him to hear.

"Ah, well, at least that takes care of the formalities." The other man chided, pressing the metal weapon deeper into the detective's back. "How did you know it was me?"

"It's not hard to notice when your gun disappears from its holster. I made the assumption it was a Yakuza, and you were the only one to fit the bill."

"...I see." Was the response he was given, half surprised and half disappointed. He placed a hand on Tsukauchi's shoulder, gripping it tightly as he guided him towards a nearby alleyway. "Well, I appreciate your honesty, and getting rid of your lackey, too."

"He's just here on a formality." The trench coated man spat out, a tinge of disdain in his voice. "I owed it to my friend, that was all. He's absolutely useless outside of being a pain."

"Yes, I'm sure." Setsuno chuckled, moving him through the narrow passageway. The bricks surrounding them veered off around a corner, leading to a dead end piled high with neglected trash bags. They had been sitting there for so long that they were splitting open from dry rot, unleashing a horrid scent upon anyone who dared approach.

The Yakuza henchman shoved him towards the pile, giving the detective space to turn around as the man holding his gun backed out of reach.

While the Organized Crime Unit had been unable to obtain any recent photos of this particular member of the Eight Precepts of Death, he was practically identical to the years old depictions they had on file. Long swathes of blonde hair elegantly traveled the curvature of his head and, combined with his mask, resulted in obscuring all of his features, save for a single yellow eye that poked its way out of the split in his hairline. It was jittering rapidly, as if he was under the influence- the same could not be said of his hands, which had the gun steadily aimed at the detective's head.

"It's quite a shame, really. We had hoped that you would have done your job and caught this bastard by now. Instead, he's been running amok and absolutely destroying us." He droned to Tsukauchi, the thinnest threads of rage weaving in and out of his words.

"So I'm working for you now?" The detective scoffed, casting a sour glance at the one holding him hostage. "That's news to me- I certainly would have hoped you paid better."

"Overhaul is _very_ displeased with the current arrangement. After we had given so much to you- we intentionally left our scenes untampered for you. It should have been a simple trade. We give you things that could be used as evidence against us in exchange for taking down the monster threatening us now." He growled, brow furrowing in a seething anger. " _And you wasted it_."

"Don't bother playing noble with me." Tsukauchi bit back, shaking his head. "You never had any intention of that evidence seeing the light of day- not with your contacts in the police scrubbing anything that we find. Your boss doesn't _do_ fair trades- he cast those things aside when he reinvented the Yakuza. And he did a good job, too; he's running a monopoly for a reason."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, detective."

"Neither does talking, it seems." He bluntly replied, remaining stone still. "So what is this supposed to be- an ultimatum? The end of the line?"

"Actually, Overhaul asked _me_ to determine that." He informed the detective, his voice shuddering in delight at the concept of the leader of the Eight Precepts entrusting him with something. "And so far, you haven't inspired any confidence in me at all. I would suggest that you start making your case quickly, before I make up my mind."

"I'm not about to beg you to let me live, _shatei._" Tsukauchi bit out, glaring intently at the armed man in front of him. "If that's what you're looking for, then just shoot me."

Setsuno stared in a stunned silence, taken aback by this man's belligerent attitude towards impending danger. He took a step forward, leaning in as if to confirm the sincerity on the detective's face.

A sick cackle rose up through his lungs, wildly bubbling up from his lips. He wheezed, holding his mask tight against his face as it began to slip from his violent outburst.

"You- I-" He cut himself off, choking back another peal of laughter. "You're too perfect! I was hoping, just... _hoping_ I was finally going to see some action again, and you just... handed it to me on a silver platter!"

Tsukauchi didn't visibly respond, his gaze hardening as he watched the Yakuza member steadily readjust his aim. He felt a leering sneer curl up on his face, eyelids slightly curling in as wrinkles formed at the corner.

"Goodbye, detective-"

Just before he could finish his gloating, a green blur rushed from around the corner, just milliseconds before the trigger was pulled. Tsukauchi felt the impact in his abdomen, sending him reeling back and onto the pile of rotting garbage behind him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his breath stolen from him as he saw what unfolded.

The green jumpsuit and pointed ears made the newcomer immediately recognizable- _Jackrabbit was here._

The assassin was holding tight onto some object, what appeared to be a screwdriver that was speared cleanly through the Yakuza's wrist and poking out the other side. Setsuno let out a horrid wail, dropping the gun from his uncontrollably twitching fingers as he desperately tried to pull his arm back. Jackrabbit responded by grabbing the metal end of the improvised weapon, his iron grip keeping the two in place.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the killer's grip tightened even further before violently spinning the embedded steel rod like a steering wheel. A sickening, clean _crack_ echoed across the damp brick and concrete, intensifying the screams coming from the older man's covered mouth. A solid kick to the gut silenced him, sending him tumbling onto his back, the middle of his forearm bent at an awkward angle.

Jackrabbit wasted no time continuing his work under the watchful, horrified eyes of the detective. He strode over to the prone form of the Yakuza lieutenant, picking him up by the collar and dragging the weakly struggling man towards a collection of dumpsters on the other side of the alley. He threw him into the wall, watching as he fell back onto his side.

The assassin calmly grabbed one of the trash containers, the heavy metal contraption groaning and squeaking as its derelict wheels moved for the first time in years. He pulled it back, sliding it until it was lined up against Setsuno's head.

The blonde man had just enough time to roll over, watching helplessly as Jackrabbit kicked the dumpster, the force of the blow crumpling both his mask and the nose underneath it. He couldn't feel the pain, it was as if a shower of icy needles rained against his face, numbing everything. He watched as the blue metal box reared back again and again, the corner in front of his face staining itself red with each successive blow. But he dared not make a sound.

Tsukauchi watched, his body trembling from both the wounds and the shock, as Jackrabbit continued crushing this man's head, until his body no longer twitched with each impact. He eventually ceased his assault, pulling back the dumpster one final time, leaning in to observe his handiwork and the death of his target.

Setsuno's bloodied hair covered his face, his body hanging limply to the side, unmoving. The assassin grabbed a clump of the blonde fibers in his fist, roughly pulling up to verify the kill.

The Yakuza's burning yellow eye, full of rage, stared back at him. With a guttural and gurgled scream, he used his functioning hand to tear into his mask, producing a small hidden blade. His hands moved as fast as lightning, thrusting upwards and slamming into the side of Jackrabbit's neck. A gush of blood came forth, coating Setsuno's rabid face.

The killer looked none too affected by the strike. His eyes slowly trailed down to the steady stream spilling itself onto his attacker, but the realization only amounted to his refocusing on the confused expression of the man under him. He simply grabbed him by the collar once more dragging him away from the wall to give them some more space. He didn't even bother with loosing the Yakuza's grip on his knife, which was still embedded deep into his carotid artery.

Tsukauchi would forever have the memory of the absurd fight engrained into his memory. He watched as Jackrabbit planted his knees on either side of Setsuno's chest, placing his hands around the blonde man's neck as he began to put the weight of his body against it. The detective could hear the Yakuza's gurgling intensify as he desperately pulled on the small blade, widening the gash and forcing even more blood out of the assassin. They stayed like that, locked into their respective position, for several minutes.

Eventually, the gurgling died and Setsuno's grip slowly fell slack as his unbroken arm fell to the ground. Jackrabbit released his grip, standing back up over the still body as he roughly yanked the blade out of his neck and tossed it to the side.

Tsukauchi felt a pained gasp escape his lips. He slammed his hands over his lips, but it was too late to catch the unwilling exhalation.

Jackrabbit's head snapped to attention, as if finally noticing the figure laying limply against the pile of rubbish. He slowly stepped over, the detective's heart rate intensifying with each nearing pace.

The bloodied figure stopped right at Tsukauchi's side, and the detective's eyes silently traced his path downwards as he squatted to closely observe the detective. He leaned in, disturbingly disinterested eyes calmly looking into his own. Something tugged at the edge of his mind, as if this man was trying to read him just from staring into his pupils.

His gaze slowly traced downwards, settling on the bullet wound in his abdomen. It was bleeding quite a bit, the red liquid soaking into the trench coat and the dress shirt underneath.

Jackrabbit reached forward, poking the hole with his gloved hands. The detective jolted, a yelp bursting out of his lips as the assassin slowly retracted his finger. He grabbed the brim of the man's trench coat, peeling it back as he patted the fabric down. He began rummaging through the pockets, eventually finding what he was looking for- Tsukauchi's work issued cell phone.

The man tasked with apprehending the killer in front of him was quickly losing both blood and lucidity. He had struggled to keep his vision from waning this whole time, but he could not maintain it forever- not with his body in the state it was. He felt his breathing grow shallow as Jackrabbit punched in three numbers into his cell phone- he could just barely make out the '_119_' on the phone's screen. He could only watch helplessly as the killer tossed the phone onto his chest, before standing up and walking away from the scene he wrought.

Just as his vision began to fade completely, Tsukauchi used his remaining willpower to commit two more things to memory- The first, was that by the end of their interaction, Jackrabbit's wound was completely healed. The only proof of their even being an injury was the streaks of still wet blood running down his neck and into his clothes.

The second, was that there was someone on the rooftops, observing the gruesome fight in its entirety.

* * *

Shinsou idly clicked around on the laptop that he had absconded with, the index finger of his free hand perched between his lips as he scrolled through the litany of information in front of him. He was sitting at the edge of the chair in the living room- he would have been more comfortable hiding himself away in the bedroom, but this was the only area of the home that he could find an open wireless network to leech off of.

He honestly couldn't figure out what exactly he was looking for. He had been isolated from the outside world for well over a month, if he included his extended stay with the Eight Precepts of Death. Naturally, if he just searched for any kind of news, he would be bombarded with unnecessary junk. He briefly considered contacting some of his previous associates, but... there wasn't a single one that he didn't inform the Yakuza of. He was nothing but a liability in that regard. The bridges he had built were little but smoldering ashes at the bottom of an unfathomably deep gorge, and he couldn't even be sure if the person on the other end of the line would be alive in the first place.

He shook his head, trying desperately to shove those errant thoughts out of his head. It wouldn't do to linger on those sentiments- that bastard Shin Nemoto was at fault. Every bit of useful information about his life had been forcefully extracted from his mouth. There wasn't anything he could do about it anymore.

Perhaps, then, he should focus on the _here_ and _now_. He needed to understand more about the creature he lived with, or at least figure out what the public knew about him. He briefly recalled that the Caretaker noted "Jackrabbit" as his public name... or at least the one the police gave him. Nevertheless, a quick search of the term brought the results he was looking for- the name Jackrabbit spawned millions of results, from news sites, televised broadcasts, and more forums than he could count.

The official media's response was more than predictable- while the printed publications stuck to reporting the incidences of the crimes and the seeming inability for the police or local heroes to track it down, talk shows had pulled in criminology experts, who went into excruciating detail of their perception of the killer's psyche.

"This man clearly relishes the act of torturing his fellow man." A gruff voice crunched out of the tinny speakers next to the keyboard. "The way he invents new methods for inflicting pain... there's no doubt he believes this to be some sort of twisted game where he challenges himself to kill others as uniquely as possible. It's like a disturbed artist working passionately to make each of his pieces novel!"

Shinsou scoffed at the armchair diagnosis. "He treats it more like his day job, than anything else."

He backed out of the traditional news sources, focusing back on the search results. His eyes scrolled through the different page names, until it settled on one nestled neatly between a few more articles near the top of the page.

It was a fan site of sorts, the name itself lost in a jumble of missing Unicode symbols and special text characters that didn't belong there. But the site itself was legible enough- an excruciatingly detailed rendition of Jackrabbit staring out to the viewer, baseball bat lazily thrown over his shoulder with a loose grip. The costume of this digital version looked pristine, but for some reason it beckoned the user to envision it coated with blood and viscera, as if informing them how things should be.

He scrolled past the image- a list of pages popped up with a live chat box moving at a moderate pace on the bottom. Shinsou clicked on the various links, watching the information flood onto the screen like some sort of righteous manifesto. The general information page readily admitted that the site admin didn't know what Jackrabbit's true intentions were, but followed up immediately with the notion that it would be inconceivable for the warrior to have malicious intent if they were working to actively dismantle the Yakuza instead of subsuming it.

Another page followed up with an estimated death count of the violent vigilante. The current estimate hung at "roughly 60," with a promise of more to come beneath it. The bottom of the page held something even more unsettling- it contained an organizational chart detailing the current leadership of the Eight Precepts of Death. Overhaul was, of course, at the top. Beneath him were his two direct subordinates, Chronostasis and Mimic, under which lay his lieutenants. They were once a group known as the "Eight Bullets," but as their influence and power ballooned after Overhaul's reformations, they were repurposed as loyal, dogmatic organizing forces to better manage the tens of thousands of lackeys beneath them.

Of the faces and names on the chart, two were crossed out- Chronostasis and Kendo Rappa. The implication was immediately obvious.

Just as he was about to click to the next page, a loud _chime_ blared from his speakers, a red banner appearing right at the top of his website.

**NEWS ALERT: JACKRABBIT CLAIMS ONE MORE LIEUTENANT**

Almost immediately, the forum at the bottom picked up pace, the text moving so fast that it was nearly impossible to read. The webpage automatically refreshed, with a new mark over one of the lieutenants- Toya Setsuno.

Shinsou felt his hands begin to tremble, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he read the headline over and over again. It was like a pit formed in his throat, too big to swallow, painfully lodging itself against the back of his lungs.

The front door swung open, causing the purple haired man to yelp and jump in his seat. He slammed the laptop closed, hastily throwing it under the chair like a kid trying to hide something he stole. He looked back up, eyes widening as he saw the bloodied specter standing in the doorway.

He felt his hands instinctively slam over his mouth, the shock making him want to scream while the disturbing normalcy of the sight melded in, his emotions too muddled to make any decisive reaction. His stomach churned; the copious amount of blood crusted into Jackrabbit's outfit exuding a horrific stench. The assassin closed the door behind him, only intensifying the nauseating effect.

"What the hell did you do?!" Shinsou choked out, coughing as the fetid scent settled on his tongue.

"I excised one of the evils corrupting this country." He reported, voice as monotone as ever.

"You-" The purple haired inhabitant cut himself off, the picture of Setsuno flashing in his head. "...right."

The two stared at each other, deadened eyes matching the intensity of Shinsou's own glare.

"You normally have more questions." Jackrabbit noted.

"Well, I do- but..." He trailed off, dropping his head. "To what end are you doing this? _Why_ are you killing people off?"

The killer remained silent, stone still at the question.

"...You don't know, do you?"

"I don't have an answer for you." He admitted, fingers twitching.

"Do you not see a problem with that?"

"I don't. My mission is just."

"But how can you make that judgement if you don't know the reason why?"

Once again, the assassin did not supply a response.

Shinsou sighed. "If you can't think of anything to say, just say 'I don't know.' You don't need to stand there quietly."

"...Very well."

He waved his hand in dismissal, the response somehow even more infuriating than the stoic silence given before.

"Just go take a shower." He spat out, looking away. "You smell like death."

Just as Jackrabbit moved to do so, the front door swung wildly on its hinges, slamming into the wall next to it. The duo spun to face the entrance, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. The assassin quickly leapt into action, grabbing an empty drinking glass on the coffee table. He slammed it against the edge of the table, shattering the material into a semi-sharp improvised weapon against the four people who strode into the room as if they owned the place.

Shinsou's eyes widened as each figure stepped from the shadows and into the illumination of the living room light. A rather petite blonde, hiding her sharp canines behind her hand as she pranced to the side. A bulky woman, with a large and clearly heavy pole slung over her shoulder. A rather elaborately costumed, lithe man who graciously sidestepped his way inside.

Their entrances were undercut by the saunter of the final intruder, who unceremoniously marched in with his hands dug deep into his pockets. He wore only a simple pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, his bright red sneakers contrasting themselves against the dullness of his clothing. His arms were covered in almost porcelain-like hands, gripping his body tightly as they travelled up his arms, a pair of them clutching either side of his head as if trying to squeeze the man's head like a melon.

The former vigilante fell on his behind as he scrambled backwards immediately recognizing the group for what they were- _The League of Villains were here._

"Interesting..." Shigaraki spoke, his voice hissing out like gas from a broken pipe. "I wasn't expecting to discover you here as well. I was hoping to have the chance to kill you, but that doesn't seem possible anymore. It'll make negotiations worthless."

Shinsou didn't respond, his back firmly planted against the wall as he frantically shifted his gaze back and forth between the villainous leader and his bloodied roommate.

"_Aww_," Magne cooed, swinging her giant magnet down vertically to rest her chin on the end, "it looks like we scared them speechless! Cat got your tongues?"

Toga remained dead silent; her eyes totally fixated on Jackrabbit. Her gaze was practically affixed to the bloodied man, tracing his gore-drenched form from top to bottom.

"I... don't think I've ever wanted to _be _someone more than I do him..." She trailed off, letting out an almost enraptured sigh.

She felt a firm but comforting hand press on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. She looked up to see the form of Mr. Compress standing next to her, pulling her back from walking across the room, right into the assassin's waiting glass blade.

"It won't be much of a conversation if you two remain quiet. As absurd as it sounds, we're actually very big fans of your work, and felt we could offer you a proposition- ah, well... to be quite honest it's much more like a gift."

"What are you talking about?" Shinsou managed to force the wind through his vocal cords, doing his best to steel his composure as he pushed himself to his feet.

"You of all people would know the position we're in." Shigaraki balefully glared at the purple haired man, red eyes burning with indignation. "I am tired of being forced to play support for that cretin. And I'd be more than happy to help you both eradicate the Yakuza."

"How did you find us?"

The lavishly dressed mock-gentleman tapped his cane on the ground, giving it a good spin through his fingers.

"An associate of ours has been tracking every high-ranking member for quite a while now- he's quite good at it, too." He shrugged, making a walking gesture with his fingers. "After your gruesome ordeal with Setsuno, he simply watched as your friend travelled back to the apartment- and lo and behold, he was here! With a guest, no less."

"We have nothing to gain if we took you out of the picture." The leader continued, scratching his neck at the thought. "If anything, it would mean the leash on us was tighter. So instead, we'd like to buff you. You want to kill them all, right?"

Shigaraki gestured for Mr. Compress to come forth. The man stepped forward, gingerly adjusting his bolo tie as he produced three small marbles from thin air. With a flourish and a twirl he threw them to the ground, backing up behind the group as they exploded with a puff of smoke, unleashing and expanding the contents within.

As the smoke cleared, it became obvious what the "gift" was. Three prone figures lay crumpled in a pile. The first was a bare chested man, wearing nothing but khaki pants and some kind of furred vest. His mask was completely white and smooth, looking similar to some kind of gas mask with the eyes covered in open mesh. His appearance was immediately recognizable to Shinsou. His heart jumped and he felt his palms begin to sweat as memories of being forcefully inebriated to the point of vomiting all over himself flashed through his head. _Sakaki Deidoro-_ the name rushed through his brain, setting his stomach alight. He would never forget that name.

Beneath him lay a much bulkier man, his expression practically nondescript and generic. The only thing about him that even registered as unique was the white medical mask that conformed to his face, and even that wasn't very eye-catching. Shinsou could only just barely pull his name out from his memories, even after just seeing it on the computer. _Yuu Houjou_.

Beneath the two others lay a crumpled, almost puppet-like figure. It was little more than a black cloth blob with tiny arms and legs, with its entire face sewn to look like some kind of plague mask, which fit in line with most of the aesthetics of the Eight Precepts of Death. There was no mistaking the presence of _Mimic_, the only surviving second in command underneath Overhaul.

The handful of League members wasted no time in enacting their job. Just as the magician's smoke cleared, the remaining members of the group grabbed one of the Yakuza hierarchy in front of them, each one of the villains having an unrepentant grin as they quite literally held the lives of those who trampled on them in their hands.

Toga grabbed Deidoro by the hair, yanking him off the pile and gleefully watching as he immediately woke up and began struggling. The teenage-looking girl giggled and swayed as she threw his head to the ground, yanking it to the side to expose his neck as she sunk one of her blood sucking blades deep into his flesh.

Shinsou could immediately recognize the effects of Deidoro's quirk, on the woman currently driving her knife deeper into the man's skin. Her breathing deepened as she listed to the side, her face becoming flush as her laughing became even more uncontrollable.

"Woo! You really know how to have a good time!" She cheered, clamping her hand over the lieutenant's mouth to muffle his screams. "Come on, don't let me have all the fun!"

She produced a second blade, jamming it straight into his side as she laughed. She watched as the tubes extending from the pommels of her knives became saturated with blood, and with a flick of a switch on the storage device on her back, the motors revved up and began vacuuming the ichor out even more quickly. She curled her legs under his shoulders, immobilizing his wildly flailing arms as she used both of her hands to hold his mouth shut, cutting off his cries of anguish. It was only a matter of seconds before his skin shriveled up like a raisin, his movement ceasing in all but the blink of an eye.

At the same time, Magne pointed the north pole of her magnet towards Mimic, causing the man to be violently yanked out from under the lieutenant multiple times his size. He crashed against the metal ending, his stomach crumping inwards as he let out a strained "_Grrk!_"

"You know, I've been having this idea for a new move I wanna try out, I think you'll do just fine as a guinea pig..." The muscular woman trailed off, a grin growing from ear to ear. She pulled her weapon up to her chest level, grabbing both ends as she held it horizontally. She brought up her knee, bringing the metal bar crashing down, only to snap in two from the impact.

Using the force of the blow, she spun both magnet fragments around, watching as they slammed together with Mimic right in the middle of it. The puppet-like figure silently flailed their limbs around, only able to make the shallowest of breaths with the sheer force crushing his chest and stomach from both ends.

"You always look like a little stuffed dolly," Magne jeered, turning the weapon vertically so she could push down on the Yakuza, crushing him with even more pressure, " _so I couldn't help but give you a niiiiice biiiiig hug!_"

Mimic's movements ceased with a sick _crack,_ his limbs falling limply in the air as a tiny stream of black liquid trailed from his eyeholes. With a sigh of satisfaction, she released her magnetism quirk from the dead man, punting his flattened body away as he fell to the ground.

Shigaraki wasted no time with the leftover lieutenant. He reached down, grasping the back of his neck with all fingers and watched as cracks began to form across his skin. Almost immediately, a wave of crystals shot outwards, reinforcing the man's skin and growing as a sort of protective layer.

The leader of the league simply laughed at the reaction, his grin widening like that of a Cheshire cat.

"You know that won't help you... just lay down and die quickly." He taunted.

Yuu did his best to spin around, crystals growing along his arm as he attempted to land a hit with his spiked elbow. Shigaraki didn't bother defending, simply grabbing the man's shoulder with his free hand, watching as the skin and muscle rotted away, the arm completely severing itself from the torso as it fell limply to the ground. Shigaraki quickly readjusted his grip to the other shoulder, repeating the same process.

The lieutenant could only watch as his limbs decayed before his very eyes, only causing him to thrash even harder. His entire body lit up, crystals sprouting off every inch of his skin in an adrenaline filled fight for survival, but his natural defenses were breaking apart just as quickly as they grew. Shigaraki planted both of his hands on Yu's back, smiling as his opponents fruitless struggling amounted to little more than exhaustion.

The crystals eventually slowed, but just before the decay spread to his body, the leader of the League of Villains relented his grip. He quickly jumped up, kicking the man's side to force him to roll onto his back. He walked to the man's feet, slamming his open palms on his ankles. Yuu could only watch in horror as his skin turned grey, cracking open and crumbling to dust. His mouth hung open, wordlessly watching as the spread of the quirk travelled up his skin, slowly turning his entire body to naught but ash.

The process took several moments, a hideous peal of laughter shaking its way out of Shigaraki's chest as he watched the man convulse and squirm, trying desperately to work his way out of the assured death he would receive. In the end, the last bits of his head began to split, before breaking apart entirely and reorganizing themselves into a loose pile of debris.

The leader got back up, dusting his hands off as he admired his handiwork and that of his peers.

"Well, I hope that settles that." He finished, refocusing his gaze on the two people living here. "I do hope we get along, since we're on the same team now."

"You just kidnapped and killed three of your superiors-" Shinsou clenched his fists behind his back, driving his nails into his palms. "They'll be after you for this."

"Oh, don't you worry about that. We're aware." Mr. Compress called from the back, stepping forward. "If I were to be frank, eliminating nearly half the Eight Precepts leadership should be putting _us_ in the spotlight, not you. Be that as it may, our associate is busy fabricating some body doubles for us to pin the blame on your dear friend Jackrabbit over here."

"Why would you-"

"Please use your brain for more than two seconds, darling." Magne cut him off, pulling out a cloth to wrap up her weapon. "We won't be able to track them easily if we were the ones doing all the killing. And to be frank, we just picked out the easiest ones to kill. You two need to pull your own weight for this one."

"Here, I believe you know how to use one of these, right?" Mr. Compress reached into his pocket, pulling out a cheap plastic phone and tossing it on the coffee table. He turned around, extending his hands towards the pair of corpses and the pile of ash littering the area near the front of the apartment. In an instant the evidence of the actions taken in the previous minutes vanished, replaced by a small pile of marbles that were promptly taken by the magician. "Allow me to clean up the mess we made. Apologies for the inconvenience."

"We'll talk later." Shigaraki scratched his neck, motioning for the others to head out with his free hand. "I'm looking forward to this new clan we're building."

Just as quickly as they arrived, they disappeared. The door closed behind them, the phone being the only evidence that they were ever here in the first place.

Shinsou fell to his knees, clutching himself by the arms as he hunched over. The overwhelming pressure of the meeting settled on him like a boulder, suffocating him as he desperately tried to bring air into his stone lungs. The world around him faded away, his instincts screaming at him to run but his limbs unable to move from their positions. His heart beat furiously, practically pushing the beads of sweat out of his skin with each pump of blood rushing through his arteries.

He could feel the eyes of Jackrabbit burning into his craned neck, but his brain was rushing too quickly to form any sort of coherent thought. The floor spun, the heat was unbearable, nothing made _sense-_

He screamed in anguish as a pair of crusty gloved hands settled on his shoulder, causing him to flinch wildly as he collapsed into a sobbing pile. He felt the hands retract, the sounds of footsteps moving away from him, just barely over the din of his own outbursts.

It wasn't long before the footsteps returned, hands gripping him once more to pull him upright. Through the shaky and unfocused vision, Shinsou could just barely make out what was in front of him- a bloody hand held out in front of him, a pair of pills nestled in the center.

Before he could even respond, Jackrabbit took the initiative and readjusted the pills, pinching them between his fingers before placing them in the other man's slightly open mouth. He reached down, grabbing a glass of water he had prepared on the way back, putting it up to the former vigilante's lips. He greedily partook of the offering, choking back sobs as he slowly downed the entire cup.

The two stayed like that, Shinsou violently trembling as he leaned against the stoic figure of Jackrabbit. Eventually, the spasms subsided, the Landsen mulling his emotions into a low hum. The familiar sensation of being wrapped in a soft emotional blanket brought his heart rate down, allowing him to finally catch his breath.

"Those bastards..." Shinsou trailed off, clutching at his shirt as the pain of his panic attack settled in. "...you, too. You're terrible."

Jackrabbit simply stared back at him; his expression as emotionless as ever.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

The former vigilante's eyes narrowed, anger slowly overcoming his features. He held his head in his hands, pulling at his hair in frustration. "My only safe place is gone. It doesn't matter where I go, now- I'm going to die. You've sentenced me to death."

"They aren't going to try to kill you-"

"You _clearly_ don't know them." He cut the killer off, sinking his head deeper. "The only reason I'm alive right now is because you're useful to them. The moment the Eight Precepts are gone, they won't have anything holding them back. There's not even a guarantee that they'll wait that long, if they can break away before then."

"...I don't know what you want me to tell you. They're helping me for now."

"Are you listening to yourself?!" Shinsou's eyes shot open, turning to face the partner he was balking at. "Do you not even _care_ that my life's in danger again because of you?!"

Jackrabbit stared back quietly, before he managed to finally formulate a reply. "...I am responsible for this new burden upon you."

"You could at least say that you're sorry." The former vigilante muttered, looking away.

"I don't know what that-"

"I don't need to fucking explain it! Just say it or don't!" He snapped, pushing the killer away.

"...Very well." He replied, standing up. "I am sorry."

Shinsou curled up in a ball as Jackrabbit walked away, disappearing back into the bathroom as he turned the shower on. Within a few minutes, he was back in the living room, devoid of blood and garbed in normal clothes.

"Come with me." He said, unprompted.

"...What?" He pulled his head up, turning to look up at the person talking to him.

"You aren't safe by yourself, neither outside nor inside. But I can keep you safe while you're near me. My blessings can mask you from everyone in this land." He explained, holding his hand out. "So, come with me."

Shinsou stared back, mouth agape at Jackrabbit as he struggled to process the proposal being made to him. A pit formed in his stomach, threatening to tear through his internal organs with the weight of its omens. However... he couldn't deny the power of this strange assassin, and the safety it could afford him. But if he did accept, then... there was no doubt that he would be throwing everything he knew and cherished out the door. There wasn't even a guarantee that he would be the same person by the end.

The killer remained motionless, open hand extended towards the one living with him as he waited patiently for an answer.

"Do you accept, Hitoshi Shinsou?"

* * *

A/N: I'm alive now, someone validate my work.

Alright so I'm gonna try to keep updates on a semi-consistent basis but if I'm going to be honest I'm putting myself into a very strange place with where I want this story to go. I'm sure you'll all love it if you've made it this far, and I'm very excited to see what comes of it!

Now, side note: I'm sure some of you have already noticed but there's a secondary objective to this story. One thing that's always bothered me when I read fanfics from English speaking writers is that the setting for fanfics is usually something along the lines of "Well we _say_ it's Japan, but in reality it's basically the United States." I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with that, especially when someone is writing from their own lived experiences, but I've always wished that when I'm reading a story that supposedly takes place in Japan, it feels like it's in Japan. So when I write chapters for this story, I've been putting a lot of research in on the back end to actually lend it a bit more authenticity- from small details like the differences between Western and Japanese kitchens, the mannerisms some people have, even the locations as well. Almost all of the locations I've written about so far in this story are real places in Tokyo that you can go to. When I wrote about Shinsou and Jackrabbit walk through the neighborhood to go to a store, I actually found a store within walking distance they could go to. Naturally there are things that can't be directly placed in the story- there's entire manners of speaking in Japanese that don't have real equivalents in English, but I wanted to bring these sorts of things to life in a place where it doesn't seem that a lot of effort is put into these aspects of a story.

Anyways, I really hope you liked what I've done so far. I'm looking forward to continuing down this winding road with all of you, and I hope you like what's waiting for you at the end. Please leave me a comment letting me know what you think about it- it really does help me more than you think!

Have a great day!


	7. Thy Bones Fractured

The walls of the hospital lobby threatened to close in on Bakugou as he hunched himself over the seat on which he took refuge. He had found an empty spot, wedged in the corner where two giant glass panes intersected, towering over him as the dim twinkle of the bright street lights and the somewhat distant apartment complexes that stood almost menacingly on the horizon. Their collective luminance drowned out the twinkle of the stars above, suffocating it into an all-consuming void that always loomed over the city.

The blonde pro-hero felt his hands instinctively clasp themselves, his shoulders stiff and locked as he grinded his teeth in silence. Visiting hours were over, but the nurses had been more than kind enough to permit him to stay in the lobby overnight. Not that they had much of a choice- it was obvious enough to them that the barely functioning man would take no for an answer.

His stomach was on fire; he could practically feel his bile boiling as it escaped into his chest, the unbearable heat and pressure threatening to cook his heart as it beat. That bastard detective was alive, miraculously. But the events that surrounded the shooting ate his soul, withering his mind down to its very core. He felt pustules of energy burst within his system- but he couldn't bear to give them an outlet, not even an incessant tapping of the foot, let alone a barrage of sparks from his fingertips. It pooled within him, circulating and intensifying the flames stoking his innards, creating a feedback loop that threatened to dissolve him and everything around him.

His wordless, racing thoughts were cut short by the sound of the entrance sliding open automatically, the _clack-clack _of Oxford shoes against tile shooting across the barren lobby and bouncing across the walls. He glanced up to see the new visitor- a man dressed in a three piece suit, everything black as night except for his white shirt and dalmatian-spotted tie. Atop the collar sat the head of a beagle, with its brown and naturally droopy eyes surveying the room and its many chairs and the occasional potted plant. Eventually his eyes settled on Bakugou, who quickly broke the line of contact, opting to turn his head to face the floor beneath him.

Unfortunately for the disgraced hero, his attempts to go unnoticed failed miserably. His chest constricted slightly as he heard the sharp clicks of his shoes approach him, before taking their place in front of the seat on the other end of the aisle, directly facing him. He just barely shot his eyes over, just long enough to see the dog-faced man sit down in front of him, elbows resting on his knees as he laced his fingers together. His gaze quickly returned to the floor; his anger almost immediately subsided, replaced with a chill so drastically different that it felt as if he would go into shock.

"I'm glad to see you came as well." Tsuragamae began, his voice heavy and as sturdy as a rock. "Were you able to see Detective Tsukauchi's condition."

"...wasn't allowed in." Bakugou tersely muttered, his gaze still firmly planted on the ground.

"Is he still in critical condition?" The chief tilted his head. "I was told he was awake and stable."

"No, it's-" The hero cut himself off, producing some mixture between a sigh and a grunt. "Stupid fucking cops wouldn't let me see him. They didn't care I was working with him. Said 'real cops only.'"

"I see, _woof._" He leaned back, lifting a hand to pinch his chin with his index finger and thumb. He swung one of his legs up, folding it across so its ankle rested on his other knee. "You wouldn't happen to remember their names, would you?"

"Ayano and Nakamura. Why?"

"Nothing much. I'll see they get warned for being overzealous in their duties. While we do need to protect someone who has been attacked by a syndicated crime organization, they should know better than to prevent his partner from joining." He paused, waiting for a response from the pro-hero. When none arrived, he followed up with another question.

"Forgive me if I sound a little upfront, _woof_, but..." He trailed off, his stone cold eyes boring into the blonde's skull. "...Why are you so intent on making people think you're worse than you actually are?"

The chief held his position for a moment, waiting to see what reaction it would garner from his technical subordinate. Said associate seemed to ignore him, opting to stare intently at the tiling and grout beneath him.

"I'm known for being persistent, _Ground Zero_, and we have all the time in the world."

The mention of his professional name caused the pro-hero to visibly flinch, though he was quick to recompose himself. He looked up, his trademark glare shooting across the aisle to stare at the unaffected beagle-man interrogating him.

"What, you saying you think I pretend to be dumb for the hell of it or something?"

"I _know_ so. I'm sure you didn't just grab those officer's names from nowhere- and they certainly didn't give you their IDs when you argued with them. You recognized them from seeing them work in another department, right?"

"Yeah, so what?" He shrugged, an exasperated sigh poorly masking the hints of exhaustion in his voice.

"If I were to ask anyone who has worked with you in recent history, they would all unequivocally say that you were incapable of listening or observing basic things, let alone make coherent plans for your future."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I did, _woof_. Of all the people I interviewed, not one answered in a positive manner regarding your cognitive abilities. It baffles me, considering that this seems to differ vastly from the man in front of me now. The only explanation that comes to my mind is that you make a habit of misrepresenting yourself- and from what I've seen it's almost as if you revel in it."

Bakugou's glare sharpened, his eyes lowering to a glower as he pursed his lips. "I don't know what you're getting at, but I ain't biting. You're the fucking _police chief_, you should be doing something more than stalking me."

Tsuragamae sighed, shaking his head. "Well, perhaps there may be a time when you're willing to reconsider your perspectives. It is still my job to monitor those who are operating under my force, even if you don't like it."

"_Tch._ Whatever."

The police chief kept his gaze centered squarely on the pro-hero in front of him. "Tell me, do you know why Tsukauchi brought you on?"

"Yeah." Bakugou sighed, his shoulders slumping as he let his breath out. "All Might asked him to, didn't he?"

"...Something along those lines, more or less. How did you know?"

"With my history? Why the _fuck_ would anyone else choose me if they didn't have to? Fucking skeleton shouldn't have bothered."

"You know, All Might _did_ see something in you."

"No he didn't." He bit back, his fists scrunching up his jeans. "If he did then he wouldn't have tried to get me a babysitter."

"He wasn't trying to babysit you, Bakugou. He was attempting to mentor you the best he could. After everything that happened in that class, I don't blame him."

"You don't know _anything_ about what happened-"

"I know _everything_ that happened, _woof._" The police chief held his hand up, his commanding presence stopping the pro-hero's words in their tracks. "I was there for everything- the attacks on your school, the death of Iida Tenya at the hands of Stain, the disappearance of Todoroki Shouto and his father Endeavor, the massacre at the camp... and I was there when we rescued you from the Villain hideout as well. You know just as well what All Might wanted for you wasn't out of pity. And... Detective Tsukauchi isn't doing this out of obligation, either."

"Don't give me that bullshit." He hissed at the dog-faced man. "He ain't doing this out of the kindness of his own heart."

"Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean he isn't trying to look out for you in his own way." Tsuragamae leaned forward. "I've known him for a very long time. He hasn't always been as... coarse as he is now, but he wouldn't be doing this 'just because.' He's looking to help you right the ship, so to speak."

"And you think he's gonna do that?"

"Time will tell... and your willingness to listen will be a factor, as well."

Bakugou scoffed, folding his arms over his chest as he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I've answered enough of your questions. Now I want you to answer some of mine."

"Very well, I'll answer what I can, _woof_." The police chief leaned back in his seat, palms splayed upwards on the arm-rests of his chair.

"Why the hell do you have that guy working all by himself? I know for a fact it ain't normal for a single guy to be tasked with chasing down a psychopath."

"...Actually, I have been meaning to approach you regarding this situation. I was hoping for a more appropriate time, however... the fact that he's now in the hospital means it wouldn't be wise to put it off any longer." Tsuragamae sighed, his ears flattening against the sides of his head as he continued. "To be blunt, Nao- Detective Tsukauchi is on a self-destructive path, _woof_. I'm sure you remember his demeanor when you first met him a few years ago."

"The USJ attack." Bakugou muttered, his knuckles growing white from the tension in his fists.

"Correct. After the death of All Might, he... changed. Normally, I would discharge someone like that from the force, but... well, call it nepotism or favoritism, but I wanted to keep him on in the hopes he would get better. I had him working solo cases, in the hopes that it would help clear his head, but I can't help but think I made the worst possible choice. Instead of helping, it's gotten to the point that he won't listen to protocol- if it weren't for the people cleaning up the mess behind him, many of his assignments would have been thrown out in court. He shows no signs of improvement, either."

The candidness of the police chief threw the pro-hero off guard for a moment. The beagle-man's recounting of their mutual contact reluctantly struck a chord in him, the tone echoing in his chest and resonating with another part inside of him- one he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I assigned him this case hoping it would be a simple incident, but that was unfortunately not the case. If I were to let him go, let alone reassign the case... I know it will only lead to him spiraling further. I cannot allow that to happen, _woof_." He refocused his gaze on the uncomfortable blonde, who was numbly staring back at him. "That is where you come in."

"...Wait, what?"

"He clearly gives you the credence to consider you a partner of sorts. I understand very well that you're not the empathetic type, but... he's on his last leg. We've yet to interview him, but... the evidence points to the Yakuza putting a hit out on him. If we can't help him get back upright in time... things will not end well for him."

The implicit request practically jumpstarted Bakugou's heart, his hands snapping to the armrest as he squeezed his fingers tightly against the metal bars. "...Why do I have to do this?"

"Because it's become clear to me that I've lost his trust one way or the other, _woof._"

The pro-hero wasn't sure how to respond, shifting slightly in his chair as he felt his throat instinctively gulp a thick wad of saliva that nervously pooled in his throat.

"That reaction alone is proof enough that you know I'm speaking the truth. I won't ask why; I know he must have his reasons. And I have some inklings as to why that is the case. That's why I ask-"

His request was cut off by the sound of multiple footsteps racing down the hall to the lobby. Tsuragamae's ears perked up, head snapping to the hallway in time to see two police officers rush into the large foyer.

"Chief! I didn't expect to see you here!" One of them, an averaged size, almost unremarkable human called out.

"What in the world do you think you're doing, Ayano?!" He barked back, his commanding tone immediately taking over his voice. "Why aren't you guarding Detective Tsukauchi's room?"

"He- the window to his room was wide open, and he wasn't there, s-sir!" He called back, snapping to an unnecessary salute.

"What?!"

"Sir, we don't think he was kidnapped. When we went to report it, we found an open door in the adjacent hallway with its window open. We think he climbed out the window then re-entered another one to avoid us seeing him. We've got the nurses looking for him now, as well!"

"Why the hell would he do that?!" Bakugou exclaimed, reeling in confusion.

The other officer, a much stockier one with a set of sharp teeth jutting up from his lower lip in an almost comical underbite, replied. "I mean, it's Detective Tsukauchi. His job is to basically make everyone else's harder."

"Detective Nakamura!" Tsuragamae barked.

"What? You know it's the truth."

"Just get to finding him!" He commanded, pointing the two of them away. "We'll have a discussion about this later."

"Yes sir!" The two of them saluted, immediately taking off towards the hallway.

The police chief turned back to face the pro-hero, settling back into his chair. "Let's stay here for the moment. The entire staff is on red alert right now, and this is the only exit to the building. It would be wise for us to make sure we keep this place covered."

The pro-hero simply nodded, his capacity for conversation completely depleted at this point. The two of them kept their eyes trained on the different hallways, keeping their eyes peeled for any sort of movement. What little they found for the first few minutes were from the nurses and security officers, frantically racing from one room to the next as they attempted to track down their missing patient. Eventually, the commotion died down, culminating in the sound of rolling wheels moving into the lobby as the sound of beeping pagers sporadically echoed down the hall.

The two occupants of the lobby were presented with the sight of a small convoy of nurses and security officers escorting a gurney into the lobby, from one hallway into the next. They quickly rushed over to the group, getting close enough to recognize the unconscious figure of Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, his hand resting against the spot on his gown above the wound in his abdomen.

"Where did you find him?" Tsuragamae asked, eyes moving from one escort to the next.

"I found him in the mailroom." One of the nurses spoke up, her hand firmly grasping the metal rail along the bedding. "He was in a state of delirium and was quickly becoming aggressive when I suggested he return to his room. I used my quirk to sedate him."

She lifted her arm, a thin spine protruding from her wrist as she flexed her hand. Satisfied with the debriefing, the police chief waved them away, allowing the group to bring the patient back to his room. As they left, the dog-faced man turned to his blonde acquaintance, who had a rather blank expression on his face from the whole ordeal.

"It seems that he is in a worse state than we thought-"

"No shit."

"_In any case_," The police chief spoke over the pro-hero's retort. "It's likely he will be restrained and probably won't be able to speak with anyone for the time being. I think it's best you go home, Bakugou. I'm going to make sure the guards know to contact you immediately when he's coherent enough to speak with someone. They won't dare defy a direct order from me."

"Fine, whatever." The blonde grimaced, turning on his heels and sauntering out of the hospital.

The cool night air hit him square in the face as he moved past the sliding glass doors, the tile giving way to a brick paved walking path surrounded by plants and vehicle posts. The sidewalk and road were both completely empty, the hedge and tree lined paths feeling sparse compared to the densely packed homes and apartment complexes just a short distance away.

The further he moved away from the building, the more he felt the bile rise up in his system once more. With each step he felt his heart stiffen as his breath hitched. He clenched his teeth, leaning up against the gate of a nearby building for support as he did his best to keep himself upright.

"You... stupid..." He managed to eke out, before pushing himself back onto his feet and spinning to face the general direction of the hospital.

"You fucking _bastard!_" He screamed, clenching his teeth as he clutched at his chest.

He knew for a fact that he had woken a few people up, but he couldn't really care about that. In the end, he wasn't entirely sure who he was yelling at, whether it be the incapable police chief, the self-destructive detective under him, or the failed pro-hero who hated every atom within himself.

Whoever it was for, it felt good to get it out.

* * *

_The television static quietly reflected off of the lithe form of Neo-Mokai, who was yet again performing a check-up on the Avatar that he diligently kept in working order for his unpleasant compatriot. At the present moment, his fingers were firmly jammed into Izuku's mouth, curled downwards in order to use the inside of the young adult's jaw as a leverage point from which he could hold him effortlessly in the air. The squid-faced man paid little attention to the incessant twitching of his subject's dangling limbs, opting instead to use the position to use his glistening, bulbous, black-as-night eye to peer into the green-haired human's ear canal from various angles. _

_Yokumitsu, as usual, sat cross-legged on his dingy bed, his emotionless mirror-mask trained on the duo in front of him as he wordlessly watched the examination take place. He watched over the young human like a guard dog- or perhaps more accurately, like a distrusting child watching his mom clean off his favorite toy. Neo-Mokai was not sure exactly what the warden of this place did with what was basically little more than a puppet, and he didn't quite care to find out or test the extent of his possessive attitude. Not when there were more important matters at hand. _

_The squid-faced man sighed, flippantly releasing his grip on Izuku's jaw, watching as he collapsed clumsily into the chair next to him. _

_"Well, the barrier seems to have stabilized, from what I can tell." He reported, placing a loosely clenched fist over the bunch of tentacles where his mouth should be. _

_"You sound like you don't know why." Yokumitsu noted._

_"What an astute observation," came the snide response. "Did you also notice that the sky is blue, and that water is wet?" _

_"...Are you going to insult me every time I speak with you?" The mirror-masked man sighed, exasperation quickly building in his tone. _

_"Only when you say something stupid, which is apparently every time. Of course I didn't 'fix' the issue. I haven't done any sort of operation since the first time we noticed that the barrier was crumbling. Now it seems to have been resealed, reinforced even." He leaned back against the metal operating table behind him, back hunching over as he began to lose himself in thought. "Neither you nor the half-breed brute would know how to tinker with the boy's inner workings like that... so who could have done so?" _

_Yokumitsu folded his arms over his chest and remained silent, already fed up with the conversation. _

_"...This is quite the confounding issue." Neo-Mokai concluded, a tone of disappointment ringing from his perplexed voice. "I'll need to do a full examination later- this could be problematic." _

_"If you're done, then leave." The other being in the room demanded simply. _

_The squid-headed man clicked his tongue repeatedly, shaking his head. "You could stand to be more friendly with me. You've only got a handful of allies left- you've rejected everyone else. You cannot afford to lose someone like me as you are now." _

_"If it weren't for Machihan's colossal screw-up, you would have never spoken with me to begin with. I've spent a very long life away from you and the others, and all you've done is made me miss being alone even more." _

_"Is that so?" Neo-Mokai pushed himself off the table, swooping down behind Izuku's limp figure, holding his head next to his own as he gingerly held the sides of the young adult's jaw with his thumb and index finger. "And who would you have to thank for giving you this little gift, then?" _

_Before the mirror-masked man could utter the slightest of indignant responses, they were both cut off as the door to the apartment unceremoniously flew open, revealing the presence of the third of the trio, the Samurai armor clad Machihan. _

_Neo-Mokai straightened himself back up, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. _

_"Good morning, warrior."_

_"That remains to be seen." He gruffly replied, striding over to the chair to roughly grab Izuku. With an effortless lift, he slung the young adult over his shoulder, before walking to the operating table and unceremoniously dumping the figure on the metal slab like a bag of potatoes. "Still plotting on how you'll do me in?" _

_"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that... Though you seem to be doing a good job of that by yourself." _

_"You won't get me to react that easily, you of all people should know that." He calmly replied, methodically removing the articles of clothing off of the Avatar, leaving the unconscious figure only in his underwear. _

_"You'll have to forgive my light teasing. It's been a while since we've properly spoken." _

_"For a good reason." He nonchalantly rebutted. He slid his index finger down the young adult's shin, watching as the skin beneath quickly split open, as if there were a scalpel trained right where he was pointing. He gripped the leg with both hands, using his thumbs to pull the incision back wider, exposing the layers and layers of fibrous muscle tissue that lay beneath. _

_"Now, Machihan, you're being a little uncharitable towards me. I'm simply trying to show you how misguided you are-" _

_"No, you are ignoring the voice of the people." He replied. "They've become degenerates, and they're fully aware of it. I am simply doing that which they demand in order to bring us back from ruin." _

_"And it just so happens that you'll rule over it all once your... 'rebirth' has been completed." _

_"If the will of the people demands it, then I will rule over them. But right now they demand a strong man to guide their weak hearts." _

_Neo-Mokai moved from behind the chair, walking over to the edge of the table where Izuku's head lay. He laid his hands on either side of the young adult's head, looking directly at his rival. "And yet there are those who oppose this narrative." _

_The Samurai pushed his fingers into the open wound, watching as his Avatar's nerves twitched and spasmed, before the fibrous material began to swell to an almost grotesque extent. It was as if a tumor had grown and nearly encompassed Izuku's entire lower leg. _

_"Those who fight the people will know their wrath sooner or later." He replied, a sense of bottled rage forming in his voice. "You should know this already, dammit! We've lost our place in the world- we've been derided, emasculated, neutered, even! They all feel it- how we used to be so much more than we are now. Our people have been in a silent and slow stranglehold for as long as they can remember- action must be taken!" _

_"Your 'action' will lead to a mass grave." The squid being intoned, his voice quickly losing its teasing tone. "You haven't properly thought about what you'll lead us to." _

_"Look where 'thinking' got us, you fucking octopus." Machihan grunted, using his finger to once more seal the incision he made earlier. He pressed down on the large mass of muscle he created, using his palms to slowly move the tumor-like tissue up, spreading it out like a sculptor would clay on a model. "We've thought, and we've thought, and we've thought, and all it's led to is weakness. We've lost so much of ourselves- and the people have been begging to get that back ever since." _

_"And this is precisely why I cannot afford to leave you be." Neo-Mokai clenched his fists, leaning forward as he watched his antagonist slowly etch more muscle into the Avatar. "All you know to do is rally your troops into battle- you don't actually care about their wellbeing as long as it means someone is reveling in the battlefield for your glory. You've become obsolete, Machihan. This world has come under my domain now. You failed, and I was here to pick up the shattered remains you left behind. I will not allow you to break it again." _

_"And yet those who believe in me grow in numbers day by day- you cannot stop me, you never could. The people have recognized that you sold them a lie, and their voice demands that someone bring back their strength once more." _

_Once the grotesque massage was finished, the Samurai armor clad man stood back to inspect his work. Izuku's muscles had already been fairly well defined, but his handiwork had only intensified those effects. His figure practically radiated strength, unquestionably intimidating yet still fitting his form. _

_"I think we're done here." Machihan concluded, rolling Izuku onto his stomach in order to more easily put his clothes back on. "I've no interest in debating someone who let things deteriorate to the sorry state they're in now." _

_"Very well," Neo-Mokai responded, shrugging his shoulders as he walked to the door. "Be that as it may, I will not stop until this farce is killed in its crib." _

_"You'll fail." The samurai stated confidently. "I've finally got a successful Avatar, and they've been doing a wonderful job of cleaning up the fucking mess you made. And they won't stop, not until the people finally get their lives back in their hands-" _

_Yokumitsu angrily waved his hand, and in that very instant the other two inhabitants of the room vanished into thin air. _

_"They just don't shut up..." He sighed, falling back onto the bed. The mattress springs screeched from the sudden shift of weight. He pulled a pillow over his face, practically hugging the material as he tried to clear his thoughts. _

_"Izuku!" His muffled voice called from under the fluffy material. He heard the sound of feet hitting the ground next to the operating table. When he pulled the pillow back to look, he saw Izuku standing next to the bed, staring blankly as he waited patiently for his order. _

_Yokumitsu waved his hand again, this time producing a composite notebook and a set of drawing pencils. He flipped through the pages, looking at the half-decent sketches, ranging from renditions of popular heroes to famous landmarks and places around the country. He eventually landed on a blank page, prompting him to hold it out towards the green-haired man along with the set of drawing materials. _

_"Show me something else from your life... something really important to you." _

_The young adult quietly took the materials, sitting himself on the bed as he began to robotically draw into the notebook. The mirror-masked man leaned back up, readjusting himself to settle down next to him. _

_It wasn't long before the scene was fully rendered- it was an underpass, in a semi-rural area that Yokumitsu wasn't quite familiar with. Izuku had drawn himself in the picture, seemingly suspended in the air as he was propped up by an amorphous blob extending from a nearby sewer entrance, with various organs and detritus floating around inside its mass. The boy himself was visibly struggling clutching at his neck as the creature holding him captive revealed its insidious grin. _

_The mirror-masked man quietly looked at the visage in awe, grabbing the notebook to settle it in his own lap. He pointed down at it excitedly, turning to face the incognizant human next to him. _

_"This looks... please tell me about what happened here!"_

* * *

The tide of rain could only slightly stem the tide of customers that poured into Takamagahara, the torrential downpour pelting the windows and casting the thin alleyway outside in a sheet of water that made it difficult to even see the Yakitori-ya that stood just a few feet across from the coffee shop. Its to-go counter was closed, with a small handful of customers perched in a small eating area, just barely sheltered from the rain as they made small talk and munched on some delicious looking chargrilled chicken skewers.

Izuku felt his stomach gurgle as he walked past the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the delicious scent wiggling through the droplets of rain and underneath his umbrella. He hadn't eaten yet today- perhaps he should stop by there after his shift was over at work. He made a quiet wish for the weather to clear in the next eight or so hours, swinging through the small accessway to the backside of his workplace. He spent no time unlocking the back door, throwing his body quickly through the entrance and out of the torrential downpour. He quickly discarded his umbrella in its holding bin, before attempting to shake the cold off of his shoulders. He sighed, pulling the sliding door of the changing room open-

...And yelped out loud as he found an unexpected visitor standing in the middle of the room. Standing before him was another man, just slightly taller than him, though his mass of purple hair practically standing on its end seemed to exaggerate the difference in height. His dress shirt was only half-buttoned as he stared back with an expression just as bewildered as the green-haired intruder.

The two of them froze for but a moment, as if they were expecting the other to rush forward like an animal on the attack. The two of them leapt into action, vigorously turning away from each other; Izuku felt his face turn a deep red as he covered it with his hands, while his new acquaintance furiously tried to finish getting his clothes on.

"I- I-I-I'm sorry, I d-didn't m-mean t-t-to-!"

"-It's fine." The other young adult quickly cut him off, his voice stalwart as his fumbling fingers betrayed his miniature panic attack. "You don't need to act embarrassed about it."

"I... I g-guess so..." Izuku closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he tried to calm the frantic beating inside his chest. He wasn't quite sure what came over him, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen people changing clothes in the locker rooms while he was in school. And of course someone would be changing into their uniform in the changing room, that's what it's for, after all... Maybe it was just the surprise of meeting someone else; this was basically the only other person he's seen at the shop, aside from the very occasional visit by his boss, Minaka.

...Yes, that must have been the reason. There was no other explanation. He took a deep breath, holding it in as he steeled himself in order to set the right first impression. Slowly letting it out, he turned around, hoping the redness in his face would die down as he attempted to introduce himself.

"A-alright, well... I take it you're a new hire?"

The other man finished buttoning his shirt, turning to face his supposedly new acquaintance. His expression was... kind of cold, to say the least; it was as if there was a thick pane of glass between the two of them, allowing clarity but preventing Izuku from actually connecting with his newfound partner.

"You would be correct." He replied coolly, grabbing a well-fitted bartender's vest from inside the open locker next to him. He slipped it on, following up with a finely creased bowtie that was effortlessly knotted around his throat.

"I see..." Izuku trailed off, his mind racing in a million directions and causing him to lose his train of thought. He quickly shook his head, doing his best to reorganize himself as he attempted to put the conversation back on track. "...My name is Izuku Midoriya, but you can just call me Izuku. What's your name?"

"...Hitoshi Shinsou." He simply replied, staring blankly back at his counterpart.

There was something off-putting about the way the purple-haired newcomer looked at Izuku. Sure, the sense of detachment was kind of abrasive, but... he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The way Shinsou looked at him... it was as if he was trying to keep calm while looking directly at a monster, or something that seriously disturbed him. It left a kind of pit in the barista's stomach, but he knew better than to mention such strange things out loud, let alone someone he just met.

"...Right..." He trailed off. "...Have you worked at a coffee shop before?"

"...Uh..." The purple-haired man sighed, looking away as he rubbed the back of his head with his hand. "...Not at all."

"Oh... Well, that's not a problem!" Izuku forced a smile on his face, beaming at the new hire. "I didn't know anything about the job when I started, but now I can basically run the whole shop on my own! Well... I kind of already do- A-anyway, it'll be a breeze!"

"I'm sure it will, Senpai." He blankly replied.

The response caused Izuku's heart to jump once more, having heard a phrase he legitimately never thought he heard before. It was as if a weight had sunk onto his chest, informing him of the new responsibilities he now had to undertake. Though... it certainly would be a good investment, seeing as how Shinsou could start sharing the task burden-

The barista's eyes widened as he quickly dashed to the door, peering from behind the frame at the main serving area. The weather outside still looked horrid, but that didn't stop a line from beginning to form at the counter-

"Shoot!" He whispered to himself, going back into the changing room. He started to take off his shirt, pausing only as he realized that he now had a pair of eyes staring intently at him. He felt his face grow red once more, before settling the hem of his shirt back across his waistline.

"I'm sorry, can you..." He motioned to the door, his cheeks growing redder as he tried to avoid the embarrassment of vocalizing his emotions. "Just... ah, wait outside?"

Shinsou, still looking as disinterested as ever, huffed slightly as he nodded. "Sure thing."

The moment the purple-haired man left the room, Izuku kicked into warp speed, quickly throwing on his uniform, hastily putting his bowtie in a loose knot as he shoved his bunched up regular clothes in a corner at the bottom of his locker. He briefly glanced at himself in the mirror before walking out, meeting face to face once more with his new coworker.

"We'll have more time to do some proper training later." He explained, pointing at the line forming just on the other side of the swinging doors separating the back of house from the front. "For now, do you mind picking up the cups customers leave and washing them? We've got an industrial dishwasher in the next room over, just pop them in and let the machine do the work- you don't have to worry about drying them either, it's hot enough that you can let them sit and the water evaporates itself."

"...Very well."

The utterance of that phrase caught Izuku off guard, causing a jolt of lightning to shoot down his spine. He felt his limbs seize up as he struggled to regain his breath, looking up to stare at his coworker directly in the eyes as he struggled to keep his footing.

"_What did you just say?_"

A static-filled whine droned in the back of his ears as he waited for an answer, feeling the color draining out of his face as he clenched his fists.

"I just-" Shinsou cut himself off, eyes darting to the side as he tried to avoid the intense stare the barista was giving him. "I'll start cleaning up, that's all. Should I wipe down the tables, too?"

"Right... uh- yeah." Izuku quickly recovered himself, shaking his head as if to throw the weird sensation out of his head. "We've got some towels in the supply closet. Help yourself."

"Will do." Shinsou simply acknowledged, slipping away from his counterpart to do his assigned job.

The barista quickly made his own way to his station, greeting the customers with his regularly performed smile while he fulfilled their orders. He couldn't help but glance back at his new partner at every opportunity, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach as he replayed their greeting over and over again in his mind. He practically messed up _every_ chance he had to leave a good impression- it was no wonder Shinsou had that almost wary expression when they first met; perhaps he could tell just from looking at him? Was he going to be the crazy senior that Shinsou would tell all his friends about, and laugh at him behind his back? He practically guaranteed it-

His catastrophizing thoughts ground to a halt as he realized he had subconsciously cleared out the line of customers, depriving him of the menial tasks needed to let his mind run away. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm himself and make a note to attempt to salvage the situation. His new coworker was still working here, so that was a good sign. He hadn't driven out his potential friend quite yet.

Izuku got to work cleaning out his equipment, running boiling water over his pour over drippers and portafilters. He didn't have to use that high of a temperature for cleaning (he made a note to warn Shinsou against doing this if he was to take over the station), but he preferred keeping the equipment hot as often as possible.

Once he was done with his cleaning duties, he quickly glanced out the window- jumping in place and clutching the counter in instinctive fear as the strikingly familiar blonde hair of Katsuki Bakugou appearing just in the corner of his vision. The disgraced pro-hero had just turned the corner, walking into the alley. Their eyes met each other through the window, the fiery red irises piercing through his own. The look seemed to only embolden him, as he marched towards the door to the establishment with renewed vigor.

It was just as the blonde was about the grasp through the door that something truly unexpected happened. Another person strode down the alleyway, their identity hidden by a cyan biker's helmet and a neon purple puffer vest with an awfully familiar logo on it. The mysterious person quickly strode to Bakugou, hooking their elbow with his to forcefully drag him away from the front door and out of sight.

Izuku let out a sigh of relief; he wasn't sure who that person was, but was very glad that they answered his silent prayers. Just as he felt his adrenaline subside, he quickly realized he had forgotten to do an important task.

Just as Shinsou finished unloading a stack of mugs behind the counter, the barista motioned for him to wait a moment.

"Can you do a favor for me?" He asked, preemptively bowing his head in apology.

"What do you want me to do?" The purple-haired man replied, his voice as unfazed as ever.

"Tomorrow is our inventory day, and I haven't done it yet. Can you go back to the roasting room and count how many bags there are?"

"That's it?"

"Well, it's a little more than that." Izuku winced. "We get our beans from farmers we work with, so I need you to count how many of each bag. If it helps, we only have one farm per country we work with, so if you want, you can count how many bags we have from Guatemala, Kenya, Rwanda... you get the gist. Just write down how many unopened bags we have, got it?"

Shinsou stared at his senpai for just a moment, before finally responding. "...Sure thing. I'll give you the count when I'm done."

"Thanks a lot!" He chirped, just before his coworker left to do his assigned job, he quickly added in. "Oh, by the way- did you, ah- did you want to, like... try some of the Yakitori next door after the shift is over? Think of it as a welcoming gift for the new job!"

The purple-haired man seemed genuinely caught off guard by the offer, his body tensing as if he had to keep himself from physically recoiling.

"I... won't be able to accept that."

Izuku did his best to keep his expression from falling as he felt his fears get confirmed.

Shinsou paused for a moment, before looking away as he explained. "I just have a lot of things on my plate and I don't think now's the time. But I would definitely consider it in the future."

"O-oh!" The barista failed to keep the surprise from registering on his face, his doubts almost immediately washed away. "That's fair- more than fair, actually. Yeah! Just let me know when you're able and I'll treat you to some good food!"

"I'll keep that in mind." The new hire nodded, before walking through the swinging doors to the back of the house. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting!" Izuku grinned, turning back to face the counter. He mindlessly wiped down the counter, doing his best not to hum aloud as he felt some semblance of his spirits return.

He heard the door chime as it opened, letting yet another customer in from the torrent outside. He lifted his head up, letting his smile brighten up the room as he dutifully greeted them with a light and airy "Welcome!"

Just as the words left his mouth, he felt his emotions get caught in his throat, stifling him and threatening to choke him as he bore witness to the second reemergence of Bakugou that day. The pro-hero looked soaked to the bone, despite his hair standing tall in defiance of the weather battering it for who knows how long. There was an unfortunately familiar rage that emanated from the young man's features, his breathing heavy as he stomped over to the counter.

"Dead eye to-go." He gruffly barked, harshly sliding a few coins towards the barista.

Izuku wordlessly nodded as he began completing the request. He could feel the disgraced hero's eyes burning a hole in his skull as he packed three portafilters and throwing them into the espresso machine. Within a few moments he had three shots of espresso, which he dumped into a paper cup and filled it with regular drip coffee. He popped a lid on it and shakily slid it over to Bakugou, grabbing the coins as he moved his hand back. He quickly counted them, confirming the amount he was given.

"Tha-that's exact ch-change, s-s-sir. Have a g-good day-"

"Who are you?" Bakugou leaned in, tilting his head as he stared intensely at the barista.

Izuku recoiled from the accusatory question, staring down at the floor as he wringed his wrists. "I d-don't know what y-you mean, I'm j-just the ba-barista here."

"Don't bullshit me." The pro-hero muttered, clenching his fist on the counter. "What's your name?"

"I don't s-s-see how that's imp-p-portant-"

"I said _tell me your fucking name._" He growled, causing Izuku to retreat further as he felt his legs begin to give out from under him.

"I-I-Izuku... Midoriy-ya." He whimpered, clenching his teeth as if he was expecting a punch to the face.

"That's a familiar name... we know each other, don't we?"

His only response was a mild whine as Izuku struggled to keep his composure.

"Answer me, Izuku. I'm going to get answers out of you one way or the other."

The barista struggled to look back at the disgraced pro-hero, his entire body trembling as he forced out what words he could.

"I d-don't w-want to speak w-with you anym-more. Please, j-j-just go."

"Oh no you aren't." He threatened, pushing himself off the counter. "I'm not done talking to you yet-"

Bakugou was just about to move around to the other end of the counter, to face the barista directly. It was only then that he was stopped by the same biker helmet clad man from earlier. He appeared from practically nowhere, just in time to grab Bakugou's wrist with a firm grasp.

"The hell are you doing?!" The pro-hero shouted in anger, though it provoked no reaction from his counterpart.

"This is not the time nor the place. Take a look around you." The biker quietly intoned.

Izuku took a look, just as Bakugou did at the Biker's request. It was only then that the barista realized the countenances of the seated customers that lined the booths of the coffee shop.

All of them were staring directly at the pro-hero with what could only be described as a gaze of utter contempt and hatred. It was well beyond that of disapproval at the way he treated their favorite coffee craftsman- it was more like they were witnessing their idol being defaced and were about to jump into action to enact retribution on the vandal who did it. Their visible murderous intent pierced Bakugou to his core, the color draining from his skin as he registered just how silent the café had grown.

"We need to leave, _now._" The Biker reasserted.

"...Okay." The pro-hero quietly replied, gritting his teeth as his partner slowly walked him out by the wrist.

Izuku could only watch with a growing void in his chest as all of the customers uniformly kept their eyes on their mark, keeping their intense stares on him as he walked out the door and down the alleyway. Even after he left, they remained deathly silent, the conversation only picking up once they knew for sure that he was gone.

It wasn't long before Shinsou returned to the front of the house, a folded piece of paper in hand.

"I counted the inventory." He reported.

The barista clumsily grabbed the information from his new coworker, pushing past him to move into the back rooms.

"Thanks." He weakly replied, not even really bothering to check if Shinsou could hear him. "I'm going to take a quick break. Just... do what you want for the time being."

* * *

Shigaraki stared quietly at his phone as he walked, its light reflecting off his annoyed expression as he read its contents for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

_"Meiji Shrine. Yoyogi Park. Midnight. Bring your friends with you. Don't be late." _

He felt his gloved fingers tighten around the thin plastic clamshell of the device, his grip causing the flimsy material to distend ever so slightly. This wastrel of a human being having the nerve to order _him_ around like a dog... He knew that was his lot for now, but it still stung every time he was forced to acknowledge the reality in front of him. His free hand reached up to his neck, scratching furiously in a bid to relieve the oncoming frustration faster than it could build.

"We're in the same boat, boss." The stoic interjection rang from Magne, who was just a few feet behind him. She slightly quickened her pace to set herself beside him, though being wary enough to stay just out of arm's reach of him. "Overhaul has been getting antsier as of late. And we'd all still like to repay him for killing Dabi."

"I'm aware. I don't have time for friendly fire." He relayed, his seething tone carrying just the slightest tinge of reassurance. "We'll just meet up with him and leave. He'll reap what he sows soon enough."

"I'm really excited to meet him again!" Twice chirped, scanning the surrounding grassy areas for any sign of hostility. "I've been looking forward to it all day."

Mr. Compress sighed, holding his cane up to point at the all-black clad villain next to him.

"Twice, my comrade, I understand sometimes the things that come out of your mouth aren't as things are, but I must ask that you _choose your words carefully_ if you decide to speak up." He intoned.

"Hey!" Toga turned around, shooting a pouting glare back at the magician. "Don't get on his case for something he has trouble helping!"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort." He held his hands up, shaking his head. "It's just that we're not in the position to get into a fight quite yet, let alone make him a target."

"Shiggy!" The young girl cried aloud, pointing her knife accusingly at the gentlemanly villain. "Make him stop bullying Twice!"

"All of you just _shut up._" Came the reply, causing them all to continue their journey in complete silence.

The leader of the now subjugated League of Villains slammed his phone shut, stuffing it in his pocket as he continued his trek through the closed park. They stuck to the concrete paths, following them as they moved between large swathes of ginkgo forests, and across small wooden bridges over the handful of small lakes that dotted the park's topography. Eventually, they made their way to a pavilion of sorts that split into two exits- one led to the large crosswalk leading back to the densely packed apartment complexes and shopping centers of Shibuya, while the other proudly announced itself with a large wooden Torii gate, inviting the group deeper into a path leading deeper into the forest with the promise of a spiritual destination.

The road past the Torii opened wide, a large and rough concrete path that was surrounded by stone tile paving on either side, just large enough for two people wide. The villains kept themselves on the paved path, only diverging when the path split into two and another gate directed them to their destination. Along the way they passed a large array of sake barrels, stacked high and decorated with lavishly colored designs. Opposite of those lay a wooden rack of burgundy wine barrels, each one emblazoned with a plaque, written in French. The final gate led to a new courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a large wooden wall, and a giant pair of closed doors facing opposite of them.

"It seems they have closed for the night." Mr. Compass announced, resting his frame against his cane as he tilted his head towards his leader. "I don't assume we were expecting our generous benefactor to allow us passage into the shrine proper?"

"...Maybe we gotta get inside?" Toga asked, shrugging.

"I mean, we ain't got a lot of ways to do that." Magne shrugged. "Boss and I could break it down easy, but I don't think we can really get away with destroying the thing."

"Let's... avoid doing that." The magician slowly contested. "I wouldn't appreciate the destruction of a place such as this. It would be unbecoming of me."

"If Kurogiri was here, we wouldn't have a problem with this!" Twice sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "It's a shame he's still locked up in Tartarus-"

The black and grey villain immediately cut himself off, covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to shove the words back into his mouth. Everyone froze, their heads snapping towards Shigaraki as he stood square in the middle of the final Torii gate, facing away from all of them.

The leader of the League remained stone still, but that didn't prevent the rest of the villains from feeling the hair on the back of their necks rise as beads of sweat formed on their brows. They eventually heard a sigh.

"We're locked out of that route, can't do anything about it now." He shook his head, continuing to look away. "And we may have to just leave him behind. Let's just figure out what we're supposed to do here."

He pressed forward, leaving everyone else in an uncomfortable silence as the distance between them grew. Despite his spoken words, their instinctive fear did not subside, and they knew very well to listen to what it had to say when dealing with the former protégé of All for One.

They eventually followed his lead, quickly catching up to their leader. They regained their formation, casually making their way towards the large wooden door.

Then, just as they crossed the center point of the courtyard, all hell broke loose.

From behind and within every auxiliary building dotting the entry courtyard burst forth a tidal wave of armed men, assault rifles pointed at the group of surprised villains. They eventually settled into a semicircle formation, with at least a few dozen of them lined up behind each other.

There was no way for any of the members of the League to make a move without subjecting all of them to a volley of bullets. The group remained in place, unable to even take a defensive stance as they waited for the other shoe to drop.

The apex of their formation split into two, giving the troupe a view of who was the apparent leader of this operation, and unsurprisingly it was none other than their unyielding master, Overhaul.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Shigaraki grunted angrily, fingers twitching wildly at his hips.

"Not at all, this is simply an expression of power. It seems you only answer to that." The leader of the Yakuza replied, grabbing his mask to press it deeper into his face. "You seem to be lagging behind on your given task."

"You're asking us to find a single unidentified vigilante in the largest city on the planet. You've given us no clues aside from a codename and a costume." The leader hissed back, his composure quickly crumbling as irritation began to seep into his nerves. "If I could simply pay to reduce the wait time on this job, I would have done so already. You can't rush this."

"I don't think you understand the position you're in." Overhaul droned back, clearly uninterested in the excuse given to him. "As it stands, you're in the same amount of danger as the rest of us. You _do_ work for me, after all. Yet why is it that I haven't heard a single report from you?"

"You can cram your reports up your-"

"_If I may_..." Mr. Compress smoothly stepped forward, swinging his cane between him and his leader as if to separate them. "We didn't think it prudent to waste your time with empty reports. We are scouring the streets, but if you would like us to report exactly _where_ we looked, we would be happy to oblige."

"And how exactly are you getting your reports?"

"That would be our dear comrade Twice, over here." The magician smoothly explained, pointing at his compatriot with a flourish. "He's got the astounding ability to clone himself indefinitely- and we have been using it to create a sizable force of scouts who line the streets, looking for anyone who fits the description or appearance of Jackrabbit. He's quite invaluable."

"Really, then?" The Yakuza boss disinterestedly replied, turning to face the black and grey clothed villain. "Twice, was it? How has your search progressed so far?"

Now at the center of attention, Twice seized up, audibly gulping as he tried to force the right words to come out of his mouth. Then, without a second thought, he blurted out-

_"I haven't found Jackrabbit yet!"_

The villains' hearts froze solid in their chest as they did their best to betray any sort of worry in their minds. They all knew, _they knew_, this wasn't the voice of Jin Bubaigawara simply lying- the way he said it, it was clearly his tic forcing him to say the opposite of what he knew was true. Each of them stoically prayed that the mentally frazzled Overhaul would simply take his words at face value, hoping that the spiritual presence just on the other side of those wooden doors would aid them...

After a tense period of silence, they were met with an exasperated sigh from the Yakuza boss.

"...I see. From now on I want you to make notes of exactly where you searched. I expect a nightly report from your leader on your movements."

Twice snapped into a taut salute, limbs trembling as he shouted out. "Y-yes sir!"

Casting one more glance to the group of villains before him, the plague-beaked man waved his hand, shooing them away.

"You may go. I expect results next time."

The group quietly turned around, feeling the guns trained on their backs as they slowly sauntered towards the gate. They were just on the precipice, about to leave when they heard their owner call out once more.

"Actually, wait. There's one more thing."

The group collectively stopped, turning to face the Yakuza boss. From behind the rows of armed guards, they watched as he slowly removed a glove from his hand.

"There is one thing that concerns me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He turned the bottle downwards, squirting out a small pool of the liquid onto the stone pavement in front of him.

"What is it now?" Shigaraki pushed the words through his gritted teeth, bringing his fingers up to his neck to scratch the rough, leathery skin.

"I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps I'm letting you run too loose of a ship." Overhaul squatted down, staring at the tiny puddle of cleaning liquid on the ground. "After all, your performance reflects directly onto me, does it not?"

"What are you suggesting?" Mr. Compress called out, once again providing a more negotiating voice than his leader. "I'm sure if there is actionable feedback, we'd be more than happy to-"

"_What I am suggesting_ is that since I am responsible for your outcomes, I must take it upon myself to prune those who are too undisciplined to be effective dogs for my purposes."

The magician felt a pit forming in his stomach. He had an inkling of what was to happen, the pieces slowly fitting together in his mind.

Overhaul pressed his bare finger into the small pool of hand sanitizer, wincing in disgust as his skin made contact with the rough pavement. Almost immediately, the ground swelled up under his finger, the small mount rushing forward, weaving in between the feet of the armed guards in front of him. It began to grow in size, ballooning to the size of a watermelon as it stopped right in front of the gentlemanly villain. Then, without any noise or fanfare, the swelling burst into a rectangular pillar rushing upwards at an angle, straight for his head.

The rest of the League could only watch as in that instant, the stone smashed against his face. The magician flew back, his splayed limbs skidding against the concrete as he painfully grinded to a halt. His cane clattered to the ground, rolling in a small circle to stop against the front of Shigaraki's shoes.

Magne immediately rushed over to their fallen comrade, pulling his torso up as she took stock of the injuries. His mask was shattered, bits of it digging into his skin and exposing his balaclava. Miraculously, he was still breathing, small bubbles of blood escaping his lips as he unconsciously drew and expelled air.

"I will not tolerate someone who is so undisciplined as to casually speak over those above him. I will not have this disorder fester under _my _ranks. That will be my only warning. If you fail to get your subordinates under control, then I will take more drastic measures. You are dismissed."

The group remained quiet, unsure of what to do. They were all snapped back to reality as Shigaraki slowly turned, bending over to pick up the cane with his gloved hands before quietly passing through the gate. He crept back down the path, towards the mass of buildings shining down on them from above the treeline. The rest of his group silently followed suit, with Magne picking up the unconscious villain and slinging him over her shoulder.

"He was..." She trailed off, her dulled voice cutting through the silence like an ice pick. "He was just looking for a reason to punish us, wasn't he?"

"Yeah..." Shigaraki hissed, unwilling to expand any further on the matter.

"He..." Twice echoed, feeling a knot begin to form in his throat. "I sh-should have said s-something..."

"It was going to happen anyway, don't get worked up over it." Magne quietly replied, a heavy weight settling on her voice as her shoulders slumped. "Overhaul is getting desperate, with how much he's lost so far. We'll just have to tough it out."

She grunted quietly, readjusting the gentlemanly villain's body on her broad shoulders. She looked down at Toga, who had been uncharacteristically quiet at the moment.

"Himiko..." Magne moved next to her partner, placing her free hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "If you wanna-"

"_No._" She cut her off, not even waiting for her to finish as she slapped the comforting hand off of her. "What I _want_ to do is string that bastard up by his feet and make him bleed from his head. I want to skin him alive, and tan it so I can use the tatters to tie him up while I slice him into little pieces. I'm going to tear open his stomach and make him eat his own intestines-"

She cut herself off running forward to cut off her leader. She planted her feet on the ground, forcing the entire group to halt as she confronted her boss.

"We can't just _let_ this happen! Are you going to just stand there?!" She swung her bare fist down in a stabbing motion, thumping him in the chest. The other two villains paused in shock, waiting to see what would happen.

"What happened to the guy who wanted to destroy society, huh?! He never would have walked away like this! Say something, you idiot!"

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt Shigaraki's rough fingers clench her outstretched wrist, putting it firmly into an iron grip. She looked up, only just then noticing her boss's neck- it had been scratched so deeply that the rough, cracked flesh was torn open, profusely dripping blood onto the white t-shirt that was slowly changing color from the top-down. Looking up just a bit further, she finally witnessed his searing rage, red eyes blazing and ignited by an anger so profound that she couldn't begin to fathom its depth.

Despite that, she knew that his feelings weren't directed at her- they all knew who it was really for.

"I want to get back at that bastard." He spat, fiery bursts of malfeasance exuding from his mouth with every syllable. He pushed her fist off his chest, letting go just as he threw it back to her. "_You're_ only going to get the gibs I leave behind after _I'm_ done with him."

"Boss, I want a piece of him too," Magne began, keeping her distance, "but what are we going to do?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, fishing out his phone. He quickly got to work, opening the browser as he rapidly typed on his keypad. Within a few seconds, he had pulled up the Jackrabbit fan site, holding the screen outwards as he showed his subordinates the wildly moving chat room.

"We can't get at him yet- that's more than fine." The blue-haired leader hissed as he turned the phone screen back towards himself, eyes scrolling wildly as he tried to keep up with the conversation. "This place right here is full of rabid fans of his- and no connection to us, either."

"...I'm not sure what you mean." The large woman replied, looking back up at her boss with a look of confusion on her face.

Shigaraki felt the corners of his mouth pull back, forming a disgusting grin that caused his skin to crack even further. His smile went from ear to ear, the tension so much that it caused the skin on his neck to widen even further, causing a fresh spurt of blood to jet out and splatter on the white backlit screen.

"I'm saying we give the people what they want- some places where there's a lot of Yakuza in need of fragging." He felt a peal of laughter crawl up his throat, his words dripping with a cruel joy. "We know for a fact that our dear friend Shinsou is watching, he'll be more than happy to pass the news along to our new ally. Or perhaps..."

He trailed off, hunching over the phone as he began furiously tapping on the number pad, composing his message as quickly as he could. He felt a sense of liberation build within him, as if he was _finally_ beginning to take his life back into his hands. _Yes,_ that's what it was! It was the end of the League of Villains as a subsidiary of the Eight Precepts of Death, and the beginning of their reclamation of the mantle left for them by All for One.

With a sense of true elation in his chest, Shigaraki pressed the send button with all his might. The moment he confirmed the message was sent, he slammed the phone shut, not even bothering to wipe off the droplets of blood that tainted his screen. He looked back at his shocked companions, feeling truly proud of himself- something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"I'm thinking... perhaps something _even better_ will come of this... We'll have to see."

* * *

All for One idly tapped on his armrest, sighing wistfully as he rested his head against his free hand.

Life had become so boring. Utterly, truly mindless.

But that was to be expected. Tartarus was the lowest pit that this society could build, reserved only for the vilest of the vile, and completely devoid of privileges that even most prisoners could enjoy. His room was little more than a cube- what color they were was unknown to his infrared sight, but he could assume they were some shade of white. Wedged in opposing corners of the simple room was little more than a dingy bed and a toilet/sink combination, though both items went largely unused due to his confinement to his wheelchair.

He removed his hand from his armrest, pressing his fingers against his leg, squeezing the limb tightly. His muscle mass was still largely intact; while most of his healing quirks were dedicated just to keeping his heart beating, what little reserve they had sought to stave off the atrophy caused from his state. It allowed him to walk for a very short period of time, though no more than a few moments- his fight with All Might had reduced that time even further, scrapping any real chance he could have for an escape.

His only active connection to the outside world was a rather curious one. His guards were specifically assigned to him, living in a bunker on the surface of the prison and switched out at regular intervals. He had attempted to speak to each of them- probing their mannerisms and reactions as he slipped honeyed words into their ears. None of them proved receptive in the slightest; they had proven to be little more than stone statues, only moving to action once a nurse came in to switch out his TPN and colostomy bags.

That is, save for one of his dedicated watchdogs- he had practically barely eked a greeting from behind the unused food tray slot before being almost overwhelmed with an avalanche of profuse praise and words of inspiration. In what was his most prolific (and only) conversation in years, he learned all that he could about this guard- she was quite the fan of villains but had no ability of her own to become one or support another. She instead resolved to become a guard at this very facility, so she could observe and study her childhood idols up close.

Her words stuck clearly to the insides of his skull: _"It's like having a collection of the best action figures in your room, all neatly organized and preserved in pristine condition." _

Now that she was personally assigned to his detail, she could not resist striking up a conversation- and now that he was able to speak with someone, neither was he. Naturally, an arrangement was struck. In exchange for her gathering benign info on the outside world and keeping him up to date, he would recount some of the many exploits and accounts of his heyday. This "story for story" deal had been working like a well oiled machine for the past few years, the two of them heavily enriched from it.

Truth be told, it dismayed him greatly to know that his protégé had been reduced to an even more pathetic state than what he was left in. But he couldn't say he wasn't surprised; he was never able to fully cultivate his hatred towards a suitable nemesis- none had ever formed. Without a clear goal for himself, he languished in his own chaos, unable to adequately make any ideals of his own. He doubted that he was able to recruit the help of the doctor Garaki or Gigantomachia in the state that he was, knowing that they had already objected to his choice to give his mantle to the erratic and ill-trained boy.

When he was finally arrested, he was strong in his conviction that Bakugou would rise up and become the shining hero for his adoptive child to rally against, but it clearly wasn't to be. The blonde idiot refused the successes granted to him, squandering every opportunity he had and somehow blundering those that were forced upon him. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he absolutely _despised_ that failure of a human being, and it was no surprise that Shigaraki wouldn't be able to truly realize himself when pitted against what was little more than an attack dog determined to gnaw its own legs off. He had no doubt that putting any stock in that waste of flesh's success was his greatest regret.

The former mastermind's thoughts were slowly intruded on as he heard something rather unusual from the other side of the door- footsteps, what sounded like an entire platoon of them coming down the hall at a rapid pace. His head snapped to its side as he heard the machine gun turrets in the corners of his ceiling power down, their motors whirring down as their barrels slumped, hitting their walls with a dull _thud._

He heard the sharp _clack_ of steel-reinforced boots as the guard outside of his door snapped to attention. He wasn't sure what exactly was happening- the numerous possibilities rushing through his head gave him a rush of excitement, manifesting as a twitching smile that crawled up his face like a spider on its web.

Somewhat expectedly, the door to his cell was thrown open by the guard on duty, allowing for them and a group of some odd twenty people to flood into his room and surround him. They were all wearing casual clothing, only linked by the fact that they all wore what appeared to be the same sort of hoodie. It didn't take him long to start piecing things together.

"...Am I to assume that you lot are all wearing blue and white?" He smiled wider, pointing to the webbed scarring that covered the empty sockets where his eyes used to be. "You'll have to forgive me for not being as... perceptive as I used to."

"You would be correct." A solemn voice confirmed from the back of the group. The group circling him split apart just long enough to allow him to the front, his facial features obscured by the medical mask tightly pulled against his face. "I was told you have had previous encounters with us, I guess that confirms it."

"I believe this is the first time that anyone from your organization has attempted to speak with me." He noted.

"We normally don't for people we believe to be threats."

"Does this mean you don't consider me a threat any longer?"

"You tell me." The man replied, pulling out a small canister from his pants pocket. "Do you still consider yourself to be a threat to the world?"

"Perhaps not." All for One admitted, the smile on his face only slightly fading. "What is your name?"

"You may call me the Caretaker."

The word rang very familiar in the villain's head, bringing back a good deal of memories of his conversations with the Failure that had rescued him many times from the group in front of him.

"Am I to take it that you finally succeeded?" He asked, lightly tapping the front of his armrest. "Has your precious Avatar produced themselves?"

"He has, and he's more exquisite than I could have ever imagined."

The caretaker's smile widened behind his fabric mask, its obscured form rivaling even that of All for One's.

"What do you plan to do with him?"

"He'll purify this country. He's been working quite hard to do so, and the fire he's kindling has just begun to spread."

"You wish to burn away the imperfections, then." The villain concluded. "I take it your willingness to tell me these things means you intend to kill me?"

The Caretaker unscrewed the top of the canister, tilting it to allow four syringes to slide out onto his palm.

"We've already taken care of your doctor associate. I was asked to kill you with the turrets in your room, but I couldn't have a ruckus being caused." He informed the wheelchair bound man, removing the safety cap off of one of the needles. "We settled on something quiet and painless, which I'm sure is probably not how most of your enemies would prefer you to go out."

"How thoughtful." All for One smiled, tilting his head. "It would make quite a few people angry. Do you mind answering a few questions for me? In exchange, I'll accept your sentence."

"I'm surprised you would be so willing to accept."

"Alas, I am but a man with nothing aside from his curiosity. You and the heroes have seen to that."

The Caretaker paused, considering the proposal for a moment.

"State your questions. Don't make it too long."

All for One chuckled, raising his hands as he shook his head. "No need to worry, I have only three. Why did you decide to kill me now, of all times? You must have known that I was here for quite some time."

"You've been a thorn in our side for longer than I've been alive, that is true. Most of our leadership was content with letting you rot here. However, we received word that you spoke of us during your last visitation. Originally, there were calls for a public execution, but once we confirmed you didn't reveal much, I managed to talk them down to something more... reasonable. This is simply a measure to make sure you don't give them anything more."

"Thanks for giving a thorough response. Your rationale is understandable, I suppose. If I were in a similar position, I would have done the same."

"Next question." The Caretaker demanded, clearly not interested in All for One's input.

"Right. When you spoke of the Avatar, I noticed something peculiar about you all. Your bodies... they began producing more heat, not unlike people in love. But you, Caretaker..." He pointed at the man in question. "...You reacted the most intensely of anyone here. What exactly do you think of the Avatar personally?"

"You could ask any of us, and we would all say that we love him. But..." He tilted his head slightly downwards, pressing his free hand against his chest as he gripped the syringes more tightly. "I love him the most of anyone in the world."

"Spoken like a true fanatic... though I'm inclined to say that you may be correct."

"You've got one more question. Make it count."

"I'm sure you already know what it is." All for One leaned forward. "Who runs your organization?"

"Well, we aren't exactly allowed to say his name."

"Then allow me to rephrase the question. The things my allies have said about your group seem impossible, even in the world we live in today. Your leader... are they a human?"

"...No."

"Then I have the answers I need. Please feel free to carry out your execution."

"Very well." He replied, before pointing to the bed perched in the corner of the room. "Are you able to lay yourself down? I'm sure it would be more comfortable for you."

All for One shook his head, smiling. "That won't be necessary. I'd rather not waste time by dealing with these blasted tubes. There's an entry port right below the main saline bag."

The Caretaker nodded, quickly moving behind the wheelchair and finding the tube the fallen villain mentioned.

"I understand I've expended my questions, but if you wouldn't mind informing me how you plan to kill me?"

"We got our hands on some quirk-erasing drugs just for you. We also have pentobarbital and pancuronium to knock you out and stop your breathing, and cyanide to quickly kill your heart. You won't feel the last one."

"Preferable to hanging, I suppose." All for One tilted his head back, resting it against the top of the wheelchair. "I offer my best wishes for your new world. Perhaps I will be reincarnated to see it surpass my life's work as punishment."

The Caretaker didn't immediately respond, slowly sticking in the first syringe into the IV drip. He double checked the line, making sure it led to the crippled villain's wrist before pressing down on the plunger and administering the sickly black ichor.

"One can only hope," he agreed.

* * *

In a previous era, it wouldn't have been unusual to see Yakuza clans work openly in broad daylight. Many of them operated as at least nominally legitimate businesses. It wouldn't have been unusual to see offices in the areas they ruled, many of them even having plaques that proudly displayed their clan's name for the public to see. Some had even been set up right next to police stations, as a jeering way to express that they were so untouchable that they could stand right up to those sworn to take them down without the slightest worry of retribution.

That era ended long ago, just when the advent of heroism and villainism took over. Subterfuge and dense corporatism gave way to the bombastic theatre of explosions and catch phrases, with the tightly knit and organized groups slowly losing their influence as the communities that supported them were dragged into the lurid fanfare. Had it not been for the timely and decisive direction Overhaul had implemented, they would have surely gone extinct.

One of the first things to go was the concept of "open business." They still needed fronts, but no longer were they going to gaudily dance in the open, mocking those who wouldn't dare step foot in their domains.

One such change happened in Yokohama. Not far from Chinatown, with its colorful Pairo gates and hundreds of red and yellow neon-doused restaurants and shops from the mainland, lay an office building. It was rather nondescript, nestled between a few cheap hotels and right across the street from a worker's union office. Its exterior was a mix of black and white, accented by a few balconies that jutted out from the main office, providing easy access to a smoking area while on the job. Just outside its front door, a small black and bronze plaque read "Executive Management Advisory Group."

This sign, in fact, was currently in the process of being wedged off a wall, a heavy metal crowbar smashing into the concrete wall behind it with a loud _clang!_

It didn't take long for the metal to give way, creaking and groaning as it distended from the leveraged force being exerted on it. It wasn't long before it snapped off with a clean _pop_, clattering to the ground as it jittered back and forth.

The assailant looked down and saw their reflection in the vandalized plaque; green jumpsuit, white gloved and bearing those familiar rabbit-like ears that sprung off his head with an eagerness to move. A pair of excited whispers behind him grabbed his attention, looking wide-eyed at a couple who had leaned in close to one another, clearly recognizing him from the news stories. He couldn't help but notice that they looked rather excited, one of them even snapping a picture as they ran off, scurrying back into the business hotel they had initially left.

Saying nothing, Jackrabbit returned to the task at hand, moving past the small entrance and towards the black metal doors that blocked his way.

He tested the doorknobs- locked, as expected. He pulled out a flask, stepping back slightly as he poured its contents out onto the metal attachment. He watched intently as the knobs began to smoke profusely, fizzling away before his eyes. Once the safety bolt was exposed, he splashed a bit more onto the security mechanism, watching a similar reaction unfold. After that, all it took was a solid kick to the doors, watching as they flew back with no resistance.

The sudden intrusion surprised the guard sitting at the desk right next to the door. He scrambled to his feet, yelling in surprise as he struggled to pull his gun from his holster. He was just able to free it in time to see the masked vigilante slide out from behind the door, arm stretched wide behind his back. He twisted his torso, using his shoulder as a kind of slingshot to swing the crowbar directly into his skull. The killer watched as the man's skull caved in from the impact, his gun clattering to the ground as the rest of his body followed suit.

The crowbar refused to let go of its catch, causing it to slip out of Jackrabbit's hand as the weight caused him to stumble a little. He stopped his fall by catching himself on the desk, quickly recovering and jumping over to grab his tool once more. He pressed his foot against the dead man's skull, grunting loudly as he twisted the metal instrument to the side, watching it pull freely with a wet crunching noise.

He looked at the bloodied end of the weapon, pausing as he saw the bits of bone and flesh cling to the crowbar. He looked back down at the man's head, letting out a shaky breath as the light exposed the large hole in his skull and the grey matter that lay beneath. He wildly shook his head, looking away as he quickly grabbed the discarded gun next to him. With that, he continued into the building.

The first floor was pretty much empty- something that was to be expected at this time of night. However, the second floor had much more inside of it. The halls were littered with the sort of keepsakes that the Yakuza valued- inherited wooden plaques, portraits, ceremonial weapons, pottery - the sort of memorabilia that cemented the familial aspects of the clan.

None of it was beyond destruction. With his crowbar, glass panes were shattered, the ancient artistry was either torn or splintered, the delicate and brittle weapons bent and snapped into two. The clay vases were shattered and their contents, be they ash or water, thrown callously onto the tile floor and mixed together in a disgusting sludge. It wasn't long before the destruction attracted attention.

"What the _hell_ is going on out there?!" One of the nearby doors slid open, the head of a rather burly man popping out to discern the cause of the ruckus. His eyes widened as he saw the green figure practically jump, rushing forward and swinging his crowbar once more in a wild fashion. The spiked metal tip collided with his jaw, a clean _snap_ resonating as he reared back in pain.

He watched as the assailant rounded the corner, frantically gearing up for another strike- this time, he was ready for it. He brought up his forearm, thrusting it out to catch the wrist of his attacker. With his free hand he grabbed Jackrabbit's neck, feeling his fingers squeeze against the warm flesh as he was rewarded with a pained gurgling noise.

The Yakuza lifted him off the ground, watching the assailant's feet begin to flail wildly as his access to air was cut off. His grip intensified on the man's neck and wrist, a smile forming on his face as he felt the bones begin to creak under the immense pressure.

It was too late that he realized that he left Jackrabbit's other hand without restraint- by the time he realized it, he could only watch as the struggling vigilante pulled the gun out from between his waistband and back, bringing it up just high enough to fire a round of bullets from his chest up to his head. His head went slack, grip loosening as he fell to his knees.

The assailant tore himself free from the chokehold, gasping for air as he stepped back in order to avoid getting caught as the Yakuza slowly slumped onto the ground.

He wasn't given any time to recover- almost as soon as he freed himself, he heard another voice shout from the hallway.

"He's in here!"

The sound of a gun being cocked was the only warning he had. Jackrabbit quickly dove behind a desk, hearing the sound of bullets raining through the other side of the wall as they made a line from one end of the room to the next.

One of the bullets whizzed by, bouncing wildly off the concrete wall and sinking right into his leg with a gruesome _crunch_. He could feel his mouth open to scream, only stifled by his hands snapping up to muffle it before it could be heard. Breathing in deeply, he slowly dragged himself across the room, listening closely just in case anyone else tried to bust into the room. He quietly made his way to another exit, staying prone as he quietly cracked the door just wide enough to see what was on the other side.

It was the same hallway he had come from, but down quite a bit from where he was now. He opened it just wide enough to pop his head through-

There were two very young Yakuza on either side of the door he came in through, each holding a submachine gun close to their chest as they apparently waited to hear if they shot the intruder or not. Neither of them had noticed him.

Deciding not to waste the opportunity, Jackrabbit pushed the door open wider, sliding his arms through and holding the gun straight out towards his targets. He winced as the carpet rubbed against his fresh wound, but it didn't stop him from pulling a trigger. The jolt of pain from the first shot was enough to cause him to miss, but thankfully these people were clearly undertrained- if not completely new to the family. They both recoiled in shock, giving the assailant time to compensate as he fired another volley of shots into his targets. The ten or so bullets left in the vigilante's magazine was enough to riddle them with holes and bring them down.

Jackrabbit grabbed the frame of the sliding door, using it to pull himself to his feet. He limped over to the duo, taking a good look at them from above.

They really were extremely young- both of them looked almost like they were fresh out of high school. One had blood leaking from his mouth, eyes glassy and dark, staring wide at the ceiling. The other one was still barely alive, chest heaving wildly as he stared at the killer standing over him.

The masked vigilante quickly knocked the gun from his still-living victim's shaking hand, walking away only briefly to grab the crowbar he left by the corpse of the much larger gangster. He dragged it along the floor, watching as the blank eyes of the young Yakuza slowly grew more and more fearful. A babble of weak pleas for mercy sprang from the bubbles of blood coming from his mouth, but they were only met with the sound of Jackrabbit's knees planting themselves on either side of his chest.

Seeing the crowbar raised over his head, the young man screamed.

"Mama!" he cried, voice full of agony as his bleeding chest was wracked with sobs.

The crowbar halted its defense for just a moment, the silent pensiveness cut short with a quick shaking of the head as Jackrabbit pulled back even farther.

The young man didn't bother with any further please, whimpering as he saw the bits of meat and bone on the tip of the murder weapon join with his own. Cruelly, the first impact didn't do the job, a searing pain wracking his skull as the weapon pulled back for a second strike... and a third... and fourth...

His vision was going red, and in his last moments he saw Jackrabbit hyperventilating, before yelling as he brought down the weapon a final time.

The vigilante kneeled there quietly for some time, holding tightly onto the crowbar that stuck out of the Yakuza's horribly disfigured face. With a deep breath, he pushed himself back to his feet, the blood coated crowbar pulling out much more easily than before. He did a quick round of the rest of the building not finding any more personnel to speak of. He continued his process of destroying all possible sentimental items, before breaking into the executive office to wrench the computer's hard drive from its tower. Satisfied with the job, he staggered down the stairwell, exiting the front door and leaning against the wall where the building's plaque used to be.

He shakily pulled out his phone, dialing the first number on speed dial.

"I did it." He sighed, his shoulders slumping as the words left his mouth. "It's done. Come pick me up."

Almost immediately, a white van came screeching around the corner, slamming to a stop right in front of the entranceway. Jackrabbit slumped to the vehicle, the door opening as an eerie purple light emanated out from the interior. Two casually dressed teens jumped out, hooking their hands under his armpits to help drag him into the vehicle. He slumped against one of the side-mounted bench seats, watching the door slam shut behind him as the vehicle sped off.

He looked around, the neon interior lights casting everything in a smoky violet light. Surrounding him were five or so teens, each looking at him expectantly.

Eventually, his silence caused one of them to react.

"...Hello!" She shouted, waving her palm wildly in front of his face. "Earth to Hibito, you still there?"

Jackrabbit reached up, using his hands to grasp his ears. With a gentle tug, he pulled the mask off, revealing his face to the crowd.

He was just as young as them- definitely in high school. His spiky orange-red hair practically bounced out of the mask once it was free, drenched in sweat yet still defiant of gravity.

"Dude..." Another guy called, leaning in to check on his friend. "You look really roughed up man. Glad you made it out. How was it?"

"I-" Hibito swallowed thickly, looking down at his bloodied gloves. "It was..."

Everyone leaned in, waiting to hear his answer.

"It was _fucking AWESOME!_" He cheered, practically flailing his limbs in wild joy, cackling as he threw his head back. "Holy shit man! They didn't see a thing coming!"

The group simultaneously cheered, the girl from before grabbing Hibito by the shoulder to roughly jostle him as a kind of congratulation.

Almost as immediately as the celebration began, it was cut off as the spiky haired assailant yelped, grabbing his shin in pain. His leg was still profusely bleeding, the thick liquid staining the jumpsuit down in a long line.

"Oh, quit being such a crybaby." One of the guys jeered. "Want me to kiss it and make it all better for you?"

"Don't make it all fucking weird, Kazuma." Hibito winced, folding back the fabric to expose the wound. "Just hurry up and heal me already."

The boy named Kazuma, a black haired bespectacled kid with long bangs and his hair tied in a bun, leaned over to closely inspect the wound. Once he was satisfied, he unceremoniously spat on the bullet hole, and the group watched as the bullet quickly wrenched itself out of Hibito's leg. It fell to the floor with a dull _plonk._

"There we go!" The black haired kid cheered, grabbing the condensed metal slug and holding it out to his friend. "It's like pulling out your first wisdom tooth! The rest of your leg'll heal up here in a few minutes, good as new!"

"Thanks." Hibito sighed in relief, rolling the bullet in his hands. "Dudes, like... my hands are still shaking... You guys _need_ to try this shit out next time."

"I call dibs!" The girl cheerily raised her hands, leaning in to pull Hibito into a tight side-hug. "I got the second longest straw- I wanna go next time!"

"You're really excited, huh Yuzu?"

"Well duh!" She pretended to look offended for a brief moment. "This was all my idea, after all! You're lucky I didn't call executive privilege and just go first myself."

"Fair enough." The spiky haired kid laughed. "I don't have a problem with that."

"So... did the camera make it?" Another light voice rang from the back, coming from a thin, almost spider-like kid from the back.

"Uh- Oh!" Hibito jumped in shock, reaching under the collar of his jumpsuit, the sound of something under his clothes clicking as it was wrenched free. He pulled his hand back out to reveal a small sports camera, positioned with a harness to have its lens look through a conveniently placed hole in the green outfit. "Yeah, looks all good. We should really redesign this when we get the jacket finished- I think the insignia is gonna cover the hole we made."

"That's to be expected." The person replied, their eyes focused on a tablet, the only other source of illumination aside from the neon lights. "This was only a trial run, after all. We'll get the minutiae down pat in time for the next time."

"Well, if that was just a trial run, then..."

Hibito's implied proposal was quickly shot down, in the form of a smack to the back of his head from Yuzu.

"Can it!" She barked out, gritting her teeth. "I said I'm going next, that's that!"

"Alright, alright, geez..." He trailed off, handing the camera to the fourth person in the back of the van. "Learn to take a joke."

"Get better jokes, then!"

"You two really can't stop going for each other's throats, can you?" Kazuma laughed.

"I'm not the one who started it!" Hibito and Yuzu shouted in unison, before quickly looking away from each other with a pouting look on their faces.

The black haired kid had to keep from bursting into peals of laughter at the reaction, looking over to their fourth comrade.

"Hey Junpei, does the footage look good?"

Junpei nodded, their eyes not once moving from the screen. "Yup. The recording is crystal clear, aside from some bits. I can have this edited into something usable in no time."

"I wanna see-"

"Absolutely not." Junpei flashed a glare to their classmate. "Kyoko's driving right now, she shouldn't be left out of this either."

"_Fiiiiine_." Kazuma sighed, leaning back into his seat. "Did you hear that Kyoko? Put the pedal to the medal and we'll all get to see the footage faster!"

"I _just_ got this license, Kazuma! I'm not gonna, like, run a red light and get us all in trouble." She sighed, having her hand from the front seat. "I'm the only one who can drive here, and I'm sure you all don't wanna walk home after you're done with these raids!"

Her slight outburst was only met with laughter.

"Oh. _Oh oh oh oh oh!_" Junpei called out, hands shaking with excitement as they stared wildly at the screen. "Uh... guys... something big just happened."

"What do you mean?" Hibito asked, leaning forward.

"So... you know the forum threads where the leaks we got posted? Someone did some research into the firms who own them and managed to dig up some info... they found what looks like a safehouse owned by the same company we just hit. They're only supposed to do commercial properties, but they owned a small apartment complex that's been under renovation for years now."

"So wait..." Yuzu grinned, more excitement pumping into her veins. "You saying we already have a new target?"

"_No_, that's the thing-" Junpei shook their head. "Someone _is already there_. They just- _what?!_"

"Don't leave me hanging!" The girl pouted, furrowing her brow.

"Just- all of you get over here." They waved their friends over. "All of you need to see this _now._"

* * *

Bakugou curled tightly under the thick padding of his futon. The lack of air conditioning in his one room apartment meant the damp walls made the whole place suffocating and humid during the hot nights. Even so, he refused to uncover himself, opting to clutch the hem of his blanket and pull it closer, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He clenched his eyes shut as hard as he could, huffing into the pillow beneath him.

Despite the achingly creaky floor underneath him, he couldn't help but feel helplessly adrift in a sea of his own emotions. His confused thoughts washed over him, filling his mouth and strangling his lungs as his anxious imagination grabbed him by the ankles, insistently pulling him deeper into the abyss. He could feel his breath growing increasingly shallower as he continued to ruminate on the events from earlier today. Just the thought of it alone made his heart grow more frantic, insisting that he simply _run_ as fast and as far as he could- damn the consequences.

Something was plainly _wrong_ about that coffee shop. Before, it was simply a place whose only apparent barista served the best coffee in Shinjuku. But now... it was as if a curtain had been lifted from his mind, revealing far more than he probably wanted to know. That... Izuku, that was the name he gave- Izuku knew him from somewhere. But he couldn't quite figure out from _where_.

He wondered if he ever would find out. The look of the patrons there struck a genuine fear in his heart. Just the memories of it caused a shiver to run down his spine. They looked as if they would all have murdered him on the spot for his transgression. Had it not been for the timely intervention of his cryptic acquaintance, he couldn't quite say if that resolve would have been put into action or not.

He felt his heart quietly quicken its pace, the weak beats languidly pushing the sludge-like blood within his veins. This sensation had plagued him all day, immobilizing him completely while his mind rushed to envision every single thing that could go wrong-

The sudden knock on the door caused his body to convulse rapidly, practically jumping a foot into the air only to land harshly back on his side. The pain he would have felt had been nulled at that moment, adrenaline coursing through his system as his breath fully solidified in his throat. He miserably failed to calm himself, his nerves frying as the rapid banging on his door intensified.

Bakugou rolled himself onto his feet slowly, grimacing as the floor creaked below him. Drenched in sweat, he quietly threw off his comforter, padding his way to the small kitchen-esque part of the apartment. He looked into his sink, grabbing the sharpest looking knife he had. Clutching it closely to his chest, he pressed himself against the wall next to the door. He took a deep breath in through his nose, holding it as a third round of incessant banging shook the poorly secured, hollow metal slab.

"Open the door, Bakugou." A tired, disinterested voice rang from the other side. "It's me."

Almost immediately, the dulled voice of the Biker sent a wave of relief over his body. The rapid shift from tension caused the grip on his knife to slip, the blade clattering to the ground as he clutched his chest.

He spun on his heel, facing the door as he pulled on the handle, opening a crack just small enough to see what lay on the other side. He was greeted with the familiar sight of his own face, reflected in the jet black visor of the helmet of the man in front of him. Seeing no one else, he let the door swing back on its loose hinges, allowing his impromptu visitor in.

"The hell are you here for?" The pro hero grunted, reaching forward to clutch the man's puffer vest as he pulled him into the apartment.

The Biker stood quietly for a moment, using the silence as an opportunity to reach behind him and shut the door. He lifted up his hand, showing Bakugou the heavy duty tote bag he carried with him.

"I brought some things." He simply replied.

"I ain't one for surprises. You could have at least said something if you were gonna drop by."

"I don't have a phone."

"Well- Just-" The blonde angrily let go of his partner, turning around as he threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Do whatever the fuck you want then, I don't care."

The helmeted visitor tilted his head for a moment, before setting the bag down on the ground.

"Do you prefer the lights off?" He asked, pointing to the inactive bulbs in the ceiling.

"Keep 'em off." Bakugou waved his hand flippantly. "They're better like that."

"Is it because you're concerned someone would think you were in here if they saw them on?"

The pro hero turned his head to glare back at the other man over his shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up."

"It's understandable."

"I don't give a damn if you 'understand' it." He bit back, falling back onto his futon and roughly throwing the blankets over him. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

The Biker walked over to an empty section of the wall, kneeling next to an unused outlet. From his tote bag he pulled an electric kettle, producing some bottles of filtered water to fill it with. Within seconds of plugging it in, the light on the kettle's stem turned blue, indicating that it was heating the contents within.

"I apologize for running off so quickly after pulling you out of there." He curled into a squat, patiently staring at the electric device. "There were other matters that I needed to attend to."

Bakugou didn't respond.

"I'm guessing by your current state, you understand that you were in grave danger."

The blonde simply rolled rover, pulling his stuffy comforter over his head again.

"You shouldn't go back to that place."

"Yeah, no shit." The pro hero muttered into the pillow.

"Takamagahara is a sacred place." The Biker quietly said to himself. "Those who guard it jealously do not harbor any mercy for those who transgress on its domain."

"The hell are you mumbling about?"

"It's nothing." He shook his head, watching as the kettle chirped out a shrill _beep!_ "You're safe for now, that's what matters."

The helmeted visitor swirled the pot around for a few minutes, watching as small billows of steam escaped from the spout. Once he was satisfied with the temperature, he reached back into the tote bag and pulled a few more items out- A small paper sachet folded like an envelope, a wooden whisk, and a small rounded cup. He opened the flap of the paper container, pouring a fine green powder into the bowl. Pouring in a small bit of water, he used the whisk to thoroughly mix the two ingredients together, watching as a light green foam began to settle onto the much darker, thick liquid.

Satisfied with his work, he got to his feet and walked over to the prone hero. He kneeled down, folding his legs under his thighs as he rested his rear on the heels of his feet. He leaned forward, tapping his partner on the shoulder through the comforter.

"Here, take this."

Bakugou slowly peeked out into the dark room through the folds of his blanket, eyes settling on the cup held in front of him. He slowly leaned up into a sitting position, grabbing the wide-rimmed vessel as he stared at the liquid inside.

"Matcha?"

"Have some." The Biker nodded, motioning for him to drink it.

"Are you- alright, fine. Whatever." He shook his head in exasperation, taking a precautious sip from the bowl. Almost immediately his eyes widened as the warm liquid coated his tongue, taking another drink as he swallowed the soothing liquid down his throat. "That's different, isn't it?"

"Well, I have some blends from a few prominent tea masters." He admitted, tilting his head back and forth. "This one in particular has worked well to help you recover from intense emotional situations... like panic attacks."

"...What are you trying to-"

The Biker held his hand up. "I'm not trying to say anything. Just enjoy the drink, it's good for you."

"...Fine." He muttered. As he finished off the gift, his eyes moved up and down the mysterious man's figure, his visibly relaxed expression studying every detail he could find.

"So were you into tea ceremonies, or martial arts?"

"Both. What makes you ask?"

Bakugou gestured his now-emptied container at the Biker's legs.

"Not a lot of people can sit Seiza style anymore. Not that I blame 'em since it hurts like all hell to do. Shit died out a while ago for a reason." He placed the cup down on the floor, turning to face his helmeted visitor as he crossed his legs. "So I doubt you came here for just a wellness check."

"...Among other things."

"Well, let's talk about those 'other things,' then. That 'Izuku' person... I think I'm missing something big about him."

"Considering how you can see him when others cannot, I would assume so. Have you done anything aside from going to him directly?"

The blonde shrugged. "Nothing else. I dunno where I should start, really."

"He likely had other connections close to you. Have you considered asking someone like your parents-"

"Not a chance in hell." Bakugou immediately cut him off, shaking his head. "We... ain't on speaking terms."

The Biker hesitated for a moment, watching as the briefest glimpses of shame and regret passed through his red irises.

"...I see. Perhaps this doesn't need to be sought after. Confronting him directly seems... inadvisable at the moment as well. Perhaps we should wait for an opportunity to present itself."

"Actually, I've been wonderin'. You pretty much came out of nowhere and dragged me away from the coffee shop before I even went in." He noted.

"...About that." He paused, placing his hands on his knees as he let out a pained sigh. "Some things... well... There's a best place and best time for everything. And... There's also a worst place and worst time as well. When you were about to go in, had it not been for the delay I caused... things would have been a lot worse."

Bakugou felt a pit form in his stomach as he clenched his teeth. "What do you mean?"

"...You would have died. I don't know why, but... there was something that happened in those few seconds that would have led to death had you been present at the time."

"...You're bullshitting me." The pro hero rebutted, but even he could tell his tone rang insincerely.

"Well, what's done is done. You're alive, that's all that matters."

"...You really think _I'm_ the one that's gonna save everyone?" He scoffed quietly, looking over to the door. "You know who I am, right?"

"I can't say I know much about you, but... I do know you're the key to all of this. Of that I am certain."

Bakugou shook his head, sighing. "Then you _really_ don't know shit. You noticed this ain't the place of a ranked hero, right?"

"A hero won't stop Jackrabbit." The Biker shook his head. "But you won't shake my convictions. Right now, you're the one who is needed."

The blonde stared back at his helmeted partner, completely taken aback by the conviction he had in a failed pro hero. He instinctively wanted to just outright reject what this mysterious person had to say, but his almost prescient abilities made it impossible to say otherwise.

It was at that moment that Bakugou noticed a blinking light, reflecting back at him through the rounded visor of the man sitting in front of him. He glanced to his side, tracing the rays of light back to his phone, plugged into the wall, it's notification light blinking slowly but steadily. He crawled off his futon, going over to the device and pressing his thumb down on the power button to turn the screen on. The notification light blinked away, replaced by a bright red banner that practically shouted its headline back to him.

**Breaking news:** _18 mins ago_

**Large explosion in Yokohama, police responding.**

"What the hell?" He muttered. He furrowed his brow, feeling an unease settling into his chest as he reread the news briefing. These happened semi-regularly, so it shouldn't be _too _off-putting... so why were his hands shaking as he read it?

It was only when he looked at the time of the notification that he realized the source of his disturbance.

"This... this came in the exact same time you knocked on the door, didn't it?" He looked back at the Biker, who remained quietly staring at the futon.

Bakugou stomped over, grabbing him by the collar of his puffer vest.

"_Answer me, damnit! This-_"

He cut himself off, another ping of realization piercing his brain. He quickly opened his web browser, fumbling his way to the Jackrabbit fan site. As the page loaded, a large red banner sprang to life at the top of the page, presenting him with more information.

**News Alert: Yakuza hideout believed to be for Overhaul's use has been demolished, following the clearing of a nearby money laundering front. Footage for both in Forums. **

"You said it was to protect me from the worst case scenario, _right?_"

He looked back down at the Biker, his scowl deepening. "So what would be-"

He cut himself off, eyes widening to their brink as he let go of the helmeted man's chest. He could feel his blood freezing in his veins, the last of his movement used to just barely eke out a single "_No._"

The Biker clenched his fists, resting them against his knees as he continued staring down at the futon.

"It is what it is. I'm sorry."

Just as quickly as his veins solidified, he felt them turn molten as his heart kicked into overdrive. He turned around, scrambling for the door in a frenzied panic. He threw the door open, rushing down the stairs and leaving the destitute visitor right where he left him.

Bakugou ran. Even if the possibility had crossed his mind, all the trains and busses had stopped for the night. He felt his legs burn like fire from his lapse in exercise, but that was the last thing on his mind. He breathed in, deep enough to make his lungs feel as if they were about to pop, trying his best to stave off any sort of fatigue as he retraced the exact same route that he took just the night before.

It had to have been at least an hour of extended sprinting- nothing was fast enough. A part of his brain screamed at him to use his quirk, if only to make the journey shorter... but it was immediately quashed by a visceral fear that only served to increase his adrenaline rush and make his frantic marathon even faster.

By the time he made it to Shounan Kamakura General Hospital, he could only just barely stand. He was scared to his very core, his breath robbed from him as his heart threatened to tear through his ribcage and throw itself onto the floor in brick pavers in front of the doors.

He slowly approached the door, swallowing with a mixture of exhaustion and trepidation as the glass panes slid apart to let him inside. He entered the empty lobby, glancing at the corner he and Tsuragamae had spoken in less than 24 hours ago.

He looked around, before painfully bellowing out, feeling his whole body tremble as he yelled out.

"Is anyone there?! Please answer me!"

The lobby itself was empty, with all of the nurse stations just as vacant as they were last time. He could hear his voice echoing back just slightly over the ringing in his ears. He tried repeatedly to clench his fists, only to fail each time as his muscles refused to maintain their composure.

He slowly stumbled down the hallway closest to him, eventually coming across an intersection facing a bay of elevators. He slumped against the cold metal doors, reaching over to press the button to call the machine to the ground floor. Once it arrived with a sickeningly sweet _chime_, he slipped between the doors, dragging his finger up from the first floor, second, third, and then finally pushing the button for the fifth.

The ride was achingly slow, driving his erratic vitals to an extreme he didn't think possible. All the sweat he exerted from the run was wicked away by the cool air, only to be replaced with the sweat caused by the fever manifesting from a delirium he was just barely able to stave off.

The moment the doors opened, his suspicions were confirmed. Curled around the fifth floor nurses' desk appeared to be the entire night staff, bound together and gagged to prevent anyone from making a ruckus. There was a chorus of muffled cries as they saw help, only to be quieted as they realized who it was.

Bakugou stumbled past them, feeling their eyes bore holes into his back as they quietly waited for him to find what he was looking for. It didn't take long- two empty chairs sat on either side of the door to room 514, the barest of red speckling along the wall giving a hint as to what may have happened to them.

The pro hero gulped, placing his fingers into the handle and slowly sliding it back to reveal what was inside.

He dropped to his knees; his body unable to support him for any longer. All he could too was prop his torso against the frame as he stared at the room that was supposed to be for Naomasa Tsukauchi.

In an almost cruel mockery of what unfolded, the room looked meticulously cleaned- to a degree that was simply not there in any other part of the hospital. That is, save for the bed.

Lying on top of the pristine white sheets and blankets lay the legs of the infamous detective, atop of which lay the folded clamshell of his personal phone.

Everything above the waist was simply gone, replaced by a horrid smelling, red blotch that pooled in the divots where the man's chest, arms, and head used to exist.

Bakugou could only stare, his body refusing to cast any tears, forcing him to take in the scene in excruciating detail.

It wasn't long before he heard a scream echo through the room and the hallway behind him. It was filled to the brim with rage and despair, mixing into anguish only to separate once more.

It was a sound so alien to him that he didn't realize at first that it was coming from his own mouth.

* * *

A/N: Well, things certainly seem to be getting out of control. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, I've got a ton of plans in store and it's taking me a bit of time to put everything in concrete. Hope you enjoyed it, and I would really appreciate it if you left a comment letting me know what you think!

As always, have a great day!


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